


You Burst Onto the Scene (Already a Legend)

by FelicisQuill2



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Doctor Clarke, F/M, Fluff, Hurt Bellamy, Jealous Clarke, Love, Post-Season/Series 04, Reunion, Reunions, Season/Series 05, alternative beginning to season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 47,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicisQuill2/pseuds/FelicisQuill2
Summary: The golden strands dancing through his fingers like liquid silk can't lie."Clarke?" he whispers it into her ear. "You're alive?"She braces her hands on his shoulders and moves back to look straight into his face. The gaze makes him feel like he's being x-rayed in medbay on the Ark, except in a way that sends coils of heat rumbling through his stomach."You came home," she sounds happier than he's ever heard her.





	1. First Impressions

_"I don't wanna live forever_  
_Cause I know I'll be livin' in vain_  
_And I don't wanna fit wherever_  
_I just wanna keep calling your name_  
_Until you come back home."_  
_~"I Don't Wanna Live Forever," Zayn & Taylor Swift_

It's hard to see. The orange sun sinks directly into Clarke's line of vision, casting bright halos around the figures as they emerge from the only dense patch of vegetation left for miles.

A shiny chestnut ponytail swings into view almost square in the middle of the target zone of her rifle. There's the flash of a dark, curving facial tattoo. The mellow chime of a blonde woman's laugh as she reaches for the hand of a dark-haired man. Clarke stares at them hungrily, goosebumps breaking out across her arms and coasting down to her ankles at the mere sight of them.

It's been 2,202 days since Praimfaya, but she's sketched them all from memory over and over again. Hung their portraits on the walls of the small, wooden cabin she shares with Madi so she wouldn't forget.

As if she could forget.

There was no hair gel on GoSci to the best of Clarke's memory, but Murphy's hair is unmistakably slicked back with something shiny. The five of them amble cautiously into the shamrock green field, newly soaked from a rainstorm, crushing spikes of tough grass as they move. She counts again to be sure. Yes, five. They're too far away to call out to, and her mouth is so dry with dread, she's afraid her tongue wouldn't move properly anyway.

Her eyes dart back and forth from the horizon line to the trees, and the steel of her weapon cuts into the pads of her fingers as she grips it harder. Tighter so her fingers turn a milky white.

Then a fourth woman appears.

She's tall and lean and moves purposefully, creating elegant lines and a sense of stoicism that no longer has a place on this Earth. When her boots crunch into the dried up brown and burnt red leaves at the edge of the clearing, she gives a sweeping look across the entire expanse of land. Clarke's throat constricts farther when her keen, dark eyes pass over the boulder she is crouched behind.

Her heart is insistently thudding into the rigid bones protecting her chest cavity, and she blinks several times to clear her vision. It's too warm for the jacket she wears, and she feels sweat pooling beneath her arms. A lone fly buzzes near her nose. She swats it away, unthinkingly.

The band of five has moved across the field by now, guns slung casually over their shoulders and tattered leather backpacks clinging to their spines. Of course, they think they're alone. The only ones to walk the Earth for at least five years, maybe six. She wonders if they've succeeded where she has failed and managed to communicate with the bunker.

Suddenly, Raven stops mid-stride, turns and yells back loud enough for Clarke to hear.

"Come on, guys! Get a move on! I want to set up camp before we lose the light."

It's one word. Just one little word, but Clarke clings to it as if it were rope when she was drowning at sea. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut before allowing them to spring back open.

His shoulders come into view first in the place where the youngest saplings are thinning out. They still appear strong and broad from this distance, but he's moving slowly through the underbrush, leaning too far forward with each step. Pushing the red streak of hair back from her face, she stares hard into the eyepiece of her gun one more time, lets her eyes coast up the exposed bronze skin of his forearm where his shirt sleeve is pulled up. She knows the jut of his chin, the position of the gun at his hip.

The breath she wasn't aware she was holding releases slowly, like air being let out of a balloon. She knows Eligius has settled just a mile down the meandering stream from this place. She knows Madi is curled up with a book taken long ago from the lighthouse bunker in a cave embedded in the rock face between this valley and their home. Somewhere deep within her brain, some neurons probably fire to warn her of gunshots and stab wounds and gags and kidnappings.

But she doesn't heed them.

She runs.

The solider-woman's hand motion to the man urging him forward is lost on Clarke, as is his snort and tentative smile that only allows half of his mouth to trend upward. She's too far away to hear it. They hear her though. When she yells. When she screams.

"Bellamy!"

His head snaps up in the direction of the blonde cyclone barreling straight for him as he exits the tree line, wincing in pain. A flood of ice water douses his veins, pulsing into every single cell in his shocked body. He's paralyzed, only able to blink as the apparition's worn shoes pound into the ground, sending bits of mud flying.

"Bellamy!" she cries out again, and what's left of his heart fractures into pieces right on the spot.

Because . . . it's _her_.

The Mountain Men couldn't suffocate her in their bunker lair. Polis could not swallow her and darken her insides. And the sky-high blaze of Praimfaya could not burn away her resolve to live. The thoughts fly through his brain in a tattered fashion, chasing each other before imploding and landing on the one, solid, solitary fact, _the princess is mythical_ , before she's rocketed straight into him, hard.

Honestly, there's not much he has to do to support her. She's wrapped around him koala-style, arms linked tightly behind his neck and legs gripping his waist ( _since when the hell do they do that_? he has a second to wonder) while her nose finds its place in the crook of his neck.

For a few moments, he forgets the searing pain racing through his knee and ankle - he's shocked it didn't buckle from the extra weight - and reaches out a dirt-stained palm to cup the back of her head.

The golden strands dancing through his fingers like liquid silk can't lie.

"Clarke?" he whispers it into her ear. "You're alive?"

She braces her hands on his shoulders and moves back to look straight into his face. The gaze makes him feel like he's being x-rayed in medbay on the Ark, except in a way that sends coils of heat rumbling through his stomach.

"You came home," she sounds happier than he's ever heard her. Bellamy barely has time to process the thought that just _maybe_ she feels something more intense when she cuts right into his mental stream with, "You grew a beard."

"How did you--"

The question dissolves on his tongue when, like a small child, she raises her hand to his face in wonder, gently stroking the scratchy, black prickle.

"I grew a beard, Princess," he manages, voice catching and breaking in all the places it shouldn't.

_It made me feel like someone else for six years. Not like the guy who promised your mother nothing would ever happen to you than left you to die in an environmental furnace._

Even the nastiest of his interior monologues can't last long when the tip of Clarke's nail graces breezily across the line of his freckles, still visible over his tangled excuse for a beard. He catches her hand up in his own, and her blue eyes momentarily widen, gazing somehow much farther into his than even his dreams on the ring could imagine.

And then, with a grunt, his injured leg properly gives way beneath him, sending his and Clarke's bodies sprawling together into the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I too have jumped on the S5 speculation bandwagon. Come join me if you'd like.


	2. If You Have To Ask, You'll Never Know

Bellamy's face twists in pain as he attempts to break their fall with his left hand. His right grips at the skin exposed at Clarke's waist where her shirt has ridden up. The touch alone sends a pulse of heat jolting through her. But then she quickly realizes she's sprawled across Bellamy's chest, potentially crushing his ribs, while his leg juts out at a weird angle. 

 

 

"You're hurt!" she exclaims, scrambling off him and immediately moving her swift fingers down the length of his left pant leg until she spots the rust-colored blood stains peppered across the rips right above his knee. "What happened?" 

 

"Grounder trap," Bellamy grits out between his clenched teeth, trying to sit up. "I forgot there would still be some around. I wasn't careful." 

 

Clarke gently pushes his shoulder back until his shoulder blades brush the dirt again. It's an odd half-sit-up position that keeps his abs taut.  

 

"It's ok," she says bracingly. "Let me take a look at it." 

 

She can see the damage through the deep tears in the fabric. It's a bad puncture wound no doubt, but Bellamy downright hisses at her, reaching out to clutch her hand with both of his when she makes it down to his ankle. 

 

Clarke throws him a soft smile, squeezing his fingers once before delicately feeling the bones around his foot when he backs away. 

 

"It's just a sprain. You're going to be fine. Your knee though," she gestures with a tilt of her head, "it's the same spot where--"

 

"Roan stabbed me. Yeah. I noticed that, too," he supplies. 

 

There's a slight edge to his voice, but his eyes are dancing with an unexpected brightness when they meet hers. 

 

"You're going to live," Clarke whispers it. "I just need to wrap it up for you back home, so it doesn't get infected."

 

"Home." 

 

He repeats the word lowly like his lips can't fit properly around it. Clarke glances down at his hands now back in his lap and stretches out his leg slowly before inching back toward him, pushing a few branches out of the way. 

 

"You survived. I still had hope, Bellamy. I--"

 

"Bellamy!" the woman's voice is somehow melodic and sharp with a touch of fear all at once. She's right next to them, and Clarke didn't even hear her approach. "Are you ok?" 

 

Clarke squints up into the last of the dying sunlight and takes in the tall, lean figure of Echo looming over them.  

 

"Fine. Just need to get used to walking on the ground again," he returns smoothly, accepting the hand she offers to haul him up. 

 

She holds on just a moment too long, and Clarke swallows hard. Echo gives Bellamy a thorough once over, brushing dirt and dust off his shirt and gesturing toward a nearby oak for him to lean against. Finally, she draws back, apparently satisfied that he did as she requested, and turns her attention to Clarke. 

 

Her brown eyes widen rapidly, and her blinks seem unceasing. Bellamy wipes at his brow, eyes darting between the women. 

 

"You're . . . alive? But, how?" Echo manages, reaching out a hand in front of her chest as if she wants to touch Clarke but worries she'll be a misty apparition. 

 

"Nightblood," Clarke says crisply. "It worked." 

 

But she can't manage anything else because there's a resplendent scream of "CLARKE!" and the heavy thud of footsteps slamming into the ground. Then someone who has to be Raven is colliding into her and forcing her ribs into a tightness that can't be natural.

 

Clarke hugs her back fiercely, and when Raven pulls back she's positively beaming. 

 

"You always do beat the odds, don't you, Griffin?" she sings out happily, reaching out a hand to brush against Clarke's short locks. "New year, new you?" 

 

"Try six years of radio silence," Clarke snarks back, but she's grinning like an idiot, too. 

 

"Wasn't our fault, Princess," Murphy strolls up almost casually behind Raven, Monty and Harper right behind him. "We lost communication with the bunker too, and spent almost all of the last three years trying to figure out a way to get off the damn ring with enough fuel, so we wouldn't crash land. . . . It would kind of defeat the purpose of being stuck in space for six years to wait out Praimfaya if we died in a blazing inferno, right?" 

 

Clarke rolls her eyes but finds herself throwing her arms open and gripping his shoulders tightly when he steps into them. 

 

"It would defeat the purpose of your sacrifice," Emori says solemnly, stepping out behind a wide tree trunk. "I'm glad you made it, Clarke." 

 

"LIkewise," Clarke says softly, pulling the girl into a hug. 

 

Monty and Harper envelop her together, so she's half crushed between them, her cheek smushed into Harper's shoulder. She thinks the girl might be crying a little but can't be sure if those are real sniffles. 

 

Monty's shaking his head when she can see his face again. 

 

"Unbelievable. But how did you do it?" 

 

Clarke's throat is closed off by the emotions rippling through her at seeing them all again after so long. Her eyes flick up to Bellamy, still leaning against the tree, and find that he meets her gaze for the briefest of moments before staring out into the valley as if standing guard, face neutral. 

 

"I, uh, got back from the radio tower just as the wave hit," she begins. "I was covered in radiation boils but survived in Becca's lab for a few weeks before I tried my luck outside. I figured I had to test the nightblood," she purses her lips tightly, so they're hardly visible and flashes her eyebrows.

 

"And it really worked . . . damn," Raven mumbles. 

 

"Of course it did," Murphy says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world." "But how did you--"

 

"Survive?" Harper cuts in before he can even finish. 

 

Clarke takes in the seven of them before answering. They're all standing fairly close together, besides Bellamy and Echo who are a little apart, and as they glance back and forth at each other, she feels their collective nonverbal conversation like a lead weight. 

 

"Earth Skills?" Clarke offers sheepishly at last, pushing her hair behind her ear. "There was one rover left near what was left of Arkadia, and eventually, I found this green patch and foraged for what I needed. I came across an old grounder village not too far from here on a walk one day and set up a house, and well . . . " she shrugs. "It wasn't perfect, but I made it work." 

 

"You had enough to eat?" Bellamy says gruffly all of a sudden, shifting to stare straight at her. It feels piercing. 

 

She swallows and drums her fingers against her leg. 

 

"Yeah. Sure, I found enough. I had it better than you guys I think," she tries to laugh, but it sounds hollow. "Living off of--"

 

"Algae and urine, yeah, that didn't change," Monty supplies drily. 

 

Harper takes a tentative step toward her, pushing her long braid over her shoulder. 

 

"Have you talked to the bunker?" she asks. 

 

Clarke senses Bellamy's eyes back on her face but doesn't look at him. She can't handle seeing the hurt flash across his features.

 

"No," she says softly. "They went silent a long time ago. I told them I was alive, in the beginning, but I haven't heard from them in almost four years. We tried to drive out to Polis and see if we could get the door open when no one came out after five years, but it was totally covered in rubble from the tower. We're going to need the--"

 

"We?" Emori breaks in sharply, narrowing her eyes. 

 

"Oh!' Clarke places a hand against the center of her chest in surprise. "Madi and I! She's a nightblood I found about a year after Praimfaya hit. She survived, too. I kind of . . . " the blood is creeping into her cheekbones for reasons she can't even explain. She watches Bellamy straighten up out of the corner of her vision. "Adopted her." 

 

"Mama Clarke," Raven grins, displaying her white teeth. "I like it!" She flings an easy arm around Clarke's shoulders. "So do we get to meet the kid, or what? We landed a couple miles from here this morning and started staking things out, but, to be honest with you, we're kind of exhausted and hungry, and I wouldn't say no to checking out whatever house you found while we figure out what to do next." 

 

"Not to mention injured," Echo says pointedly, gesturing toward Bellamy.

 

"I'm fine," he insists, but his color seems more pale, even in the growing twilight. 

 

"Of course! We'll go right now," Clarke says hastily, gesturing for them all to follow her as she steps out of the treeline and back into the uneven emerald and lime rough grasses. 

 

It smells like it might rain again, but there's a tinge of pink and orange on the horizon line, which is a good sign. 

 

"Lead the way!" Murphy calls out from behind her, and she can't even tell if it's sarcastic or not. 

 

Five minutes later, she's taken the lead with Raven and Emori, while the others trudge along behind them carrying most of their belongings. 

 

Clarke's eyes sweep over the rising hills as they near them, tracing over the jagged cave openings in the neighboring cliff face. She notices nothing to cause alarm and breathes a little more deeply, allowing the sweet night air to fill her lungs. 

 

"I radioed every day," she says it quietly as they begin the hard climb up the narrow trail of the cliffs. "I guess you never got the messages." 

 

Raven exchanges a look with Emori then looks at her, face full of genuine sadness. 

 

"I'm so sorry, Clarke. We didn't. I know it really would've, uh . . . helped . . . us all to know you were alive, but the comms system was a fucking mess. And then like Murphy said, we didn't have the fuel situation figured out to come down, and everyone nearly rioted. Nobody wanted to be stuck on that tin can, but . . . " she trails off weakly. 

 

"It's ok. I understand. You did good. You did better than any of us could have done," Clarke says, reaching out to drop a comforting hand on Raven's shoulder. 

 

They're reaching the top of the trail, and Clarke works to keep from slipping on all the loose rocks and pebbles. A few stars are emerging in the navy sky, and it's starting to get chilly. Clarke rubs her bare arms briskly for a moment before turning to look down the trail at the others. 

 

Monty is joking with Murphy and Harper, making slow but steady progress forward. Behind them, Bellamy is leaning slightly against Echo, who's supporting him with an arm around his waist. 

 

Emori follows her gaze and clicks her tongue just once before readjusting her braid. Clarke notices she's no longer wearing the cloth wrap around her hair. 

 

"So . . . ummm, they're a thing now?" she asks Raven pointedly, trying to keep her voice light and breezy. She hopes six years wasn't long enough to erase the understanding the two used to have about emotional disclosures. Short and sweet was better. Might as well rip the bandaid off if something had to be addressed. 

 

Raven coughs and rubs the side of her nose. Before she even opens her mouth, Clarke's stomach seems to fall to her boots. 

 

"Space, uh, space was complicated," Raven says slowly, thinking through her words. "There just weren't a lot of options for . . . hanging out. They're not really  _together_ right now, it's just--"

 

"Complicated, got it, thanks," Clarke says briskly, avoiding eye contact with both girls and heading straight for the hanging moss obscuring the entrance to Madi's cave. 


	3. Exit Wounds

"Hey, babe," Clarke says, crouching down on the smooth, slick rock floor and pushing Madi's brown hair away from her peaceful face. "Time to wake up." 

 

Madi grunts and swats the hand away, trying to roll over. 

 

"I wanna sleep," she mumbles.

 

Clarke laughs despite herself and sits back on her heels. 

 

"I know something that might change your mind." 

 

Madi cracks an eye open moodily.

 

"It's my friends," Clarke grins at her. "They're finally home." 

 

***

 

Madi steps cautiously behind Clarke out into the cooling air. Up in the trees, the bright chirp of insects sounds. Before her stand seven strangers, except they're not really foreign. She's spent the last five years watching their portraits stuck to the walls- they're sort of like her old friends. She even talked to them before when she was younger, telling them about new plants Clarke discovered in the woods or things she hoped they would teach her. She already knows Bellamy is best with a gun, Murphy understands how to escape bad situations and Raven is an outstanding Zero-G mechanic.  

 

"Hi," the one with the dark hair pulled back in a high ponytail says, stepping forward with a smile. "It's nice to meet you, Madi. I'm Raven." 

 

Madi shakes her hand and looks long and hard into her face. She's pretty but seems worn down. 

 

"Thanks for taking care of Clarke for us," a man with dark, straight hair steps forward. Monty. 

 

He gives her a pat on the shoulder before the blonde girl crouches down beside her. 

 

"Hi," she says kindly. "I'm Harper, and that's Murphy, Emori, Echo, and Bellamy," she points to each one in turn. "We were all friends with your mom before Praimfaya hit. We're really glad to see her again." 

 

"You're playing fast and loose with the definition of friendship, aren't you, McIntyre?" Murphy jokes. 

 

But his words settle like a frosty blanket over the group. Emori shoots Clarke a sympathetic look she finds oddly comforting, and she clears her throat loudly. 

 

"I'm sure you're all hungry and want to get some sleep soon," she says, placing a hand on Madi's shoulder. "Come on, our little house isn't too far from here." 

 

"Yeah, let's go," Echo seconds her words. "I need to wrap up Bellamy's leg." 

 

"I'm  _fine_ ," Clarke hears him repeat sternly. His freckles are jumping off his sweaty skin, and his curls hang low over his forehead. 

 

Her eyes meet his through the gap between Harper and Murphy for a moment, but he turns away a second later to help Raven adjust her pack as she stands up from straightening out her brace. A wave of embarrassment slides hot and thick down Clarke's throat and into her stomach. She shouldn't have jumped on him the way she did before. That's never how they were, and she knew that. Six years was a long time, there was no way of knowing what really happened in space.  _Stupid, Clarke. And now everybody knows it._

"Great!" she tries for cheerful. "Follow me!" 

 

***

 

Their house is turquoise. Striking turquoise, with a grape purple front door and all kinds of vines and plants curling up the old woodwork as if nature is set on reclaiming it. 

 

"It's . . . charming," Harper says, turning in a slow circle in the small green clearing. The tall trees are closing in right on the back of the house, and Clarke's hung a close line about twenty feet to the left where a few pairs of pants and tops are hanging out to dry. 

 

"It's not much," Madi shrugs. "But it's way better than when we lived in the rover." 

 

"You lived in the rover?" Bellamy turns sharply and stares at Clarke. "For how long?" 

 

She smiles tightly and reaches down to scratch her calf. 

 

"Not long. I brought Madi back to Becca's Island for a while before we found this place." 

 

Emori is checking out the chimney appreciatively. 

 

"John and I call the bed closest to the fire!" she calls out with a cat-like grin. "It's getting chilly!" 

 

Clarke stands back and lets them all file past her, but Bellamy stays back, making sure he's the last one inside. Her heart begins a delicately fast drumbeat she can feel in her wrists when he comes near enough for his shoulder to almost touch hers.

 

"What?" she asks him. It comes out more snappish than she intended. 

 

He jerks his head toward an ancient wrought iron chair and table wedged in the grass nearby. An array of differently shaped bullets lies on top of the table. 

 

"Who else is here?" he says slowly. 

 

She shuts her eyes for a moment and sighs. 

 

"Nobody. I just like to be prepared for the worst." 

 

His eyes narrow shrewdly. 

 

"Clarke, if someone is here, and you're not telling us, not telling _me,_ than this isn't going to end well." 

 

"When has anything ever ended well?" she mutters to the dirt. 

 

He runs a hand through his hair, tenseness still in his cheekbones. 

 

"Clarke, listen, I--"

 

"Your leg. It needs to be bandaged," she interrupts. "Go inside." 

 

***

 

Clarke can hear Madi giggling as she climbs the stairs with Harper, Monty, Emori, and Murphy, showing them to the two extra rooms up there where they can put their things down. She smiles, releasing a wave of stress she hadn't even been aware she was holding onto as she hears Harper gasp at the little vegetable garden she must be seeing from the window. 

 

"She's a cool kid," Raven winks at Clarke as she collapses down onto a rickety chair by the fireplace. "Told me about some experiments you set up for her at Becca's Lab after you first found her." 

 

"I had to find something to keep her busy while I planned what to do next," Clarke says quietly, ringing out a clean cloth and trying not to watch Echo fuss over the pallets she's setting up on the floor. 

 

"Ugh!" 

 

The noise breaks her tangled inner dialogue and she jolts forward just as Bellamy's frame slams into the back wall. He starts to slide down it, grimacing. 

 

"Bellamy!" she rushes over to him, cloth and ointment in hand. "I'm sorry! I'm here." 

 

"It's ok," he grunts. "It's my damn ankle. Must've put too much weight on it." 

 

She carefully rolls back his pant leg and pokes at the swollen flesh above his foot. It's hot to the touch, while through the ripped fabric opening near his knee, she can see his grounder trap injury appears inflamed. 

 

"I need to treat this," she says calmly to him, voice wavering only the smallest fraction. "I can make a bandage brace for your ankle, and I'll disinfect your other wound." 

 

She starts when she feels the edges of his fingers whisper against her own. It causes her to glance cautiously into his face. Bellamy's head is back against the wall, and his eyes are half-closed. Clarke braces herself and feels his forehead with the back of her hand. It's cool, which is good. There's no infection but also no way of knowing if the grounder trap was laced with any kind of poison. Bellamy's Adam's Apple bounces up and down when he speaks at last. "Do whatever you have to do, Princess." 

 

Raven shifts loudly behind them. 

 

"Hey, guys!" she calls up the stairs. "We need to get some more firewood and," she glances around the room swiftly, eyes landing on a large, metal pot. "Find some stuff to put in a soup before we lose the light. Come on if you want to eat before midnight!" 

 

"I should stay here and stand guard," Echo says to Raven. 

 

"No need for your security services" Murphy files casually down the stairs, smirking at the back of Clarke's head where it's crouched low over Bellamy, pulling off his boots. "Nobody around for miles." 

 

Echo's lips tighten, but then she stalks out the door. 

 

Emori smacks him on the back of his head as she reaches the bottom step. 

 

"What?" he whirls around, rubbing his hair. "It was true! And subtle," he casts his eyes over to Clarke's striking hair. 

 

Emori sighs heavily. 

 

"Nothing's ever easy, is it?"

 

"You're just getting that now?" Monty asks from behind them. 

 

"Enough, let's roll," Raven snaps, and like obedient ducklings, everyone files out the door and toward the tree line. 

 

***

 

The silence hangs heavy in the air once Raven snaps the door closed. Bellamy reaches out his hand and skims two fingers down Clarke's forearm. She trembles, the skin at her cheeks colors a dusky scarlet. 

 

"Clarke," he whispers into the half-light. "I thought you were dead." 

 

Her head's ducked down, but when she raises it again, her eyes are shining with a watery film. 

 

"That last day, getting the rocket ready, I thought I was dying," she says to his knee, dusting her hand over it and feeling a zinging sensation straight up to her elbow. 

 

"I should never have--"

 

"I'm going to need you to take off your pants, so I can fix you up," Clarke says hastily, swiping at her her eyes and moving away abruptly, leaving a gust of wind in her wake. "You don't . . . need help, do you?" 

 

The faint flicker of his old smirk crosses his lips.

 

"I think I got it." 

 

His tan hands move to his belt buckle, and she turns away, busying herself kneeling at the fireplace and beginning to boil some water. 

 

A few moments later, his low voice reaches her. 

 

"I'm ready." 

 

She nods and returns to his side, pouring a green glass bottle's contents over his knee into the the angry, ragged wound there. He flinches but allows her to disinfect the area. Clarke smells like wildflowers and honey, and he notices her shirt has a higher neckline than the old ones from the dropship did. 

 

"I need to stitch this up now," Clarke says, patting his skin with a bit of clean cloth. "I'm sorry I don't have any painkillers here, so I'm gonna have you talk about something else while I work, ok? It'll be fine." 

 

"Ok," Bellamy slumps back against the wall, his broad shoulders giving way. 

 

Clarke readies the needle and thread from the small, striped case at her side. 

 

"Ok," she says bracingly. "Tell me your favorite memory from the Ark." 

 

Bellamy's voice is as soothing as she remembered it, and it washes over her as he recalls walking up to the wide, viewing deck window to see his very first moonrise, one hand wrapped securely in his mother's. She stitches him up as fast as she can, somewhat lost in the story he begins to tell about the constellation Cassiopeia, which Aurora pointed out to him that day. 

 

"Very good," she lulls him with her own sweet voice, cutting off the small bit of thread hanging over with a pair of ancient scissors. "I wish I had ice for your ankle. But this," she holds up some makeshift blue cotton in diagonal strips," will work for now. Tomorrow we'll get you to the river to soak it. But for tonight, you need rest and to keep it wrapped up and elevated." 

 

He allows her to take his foot into her lap as she works to bind up the swollen ankle. 

 

"Tell me your favorite memory from the ground," she says immediately when she sees his eyes fill with pain at her touch. 

 

Bellamy seems to consider it for a bit too long.

 

"Sorry, that was probably a stupid question," Clarke says. "Too many wars and not enough peace, right?" 

 

He shakes his head slowly, and she realizes how different he looks with the beard. Older, and more closed off somehow. 

 

"That wasn't the problem," his lips barely make a sound, but she hears him nonetheless. "I didn't know which one you'd want to hear." 

 

"Oh," Clarke says, flushing once more. 

 

_Of course, there was Gina. He must have been happy with her while I was running away in the woods._

"You don't have to say. I didn't mean to pry." 

 

Clarke tightens the worn cloth around his ankle bone and dabs some thick, strong-smelling liquid where the bruising is worst. 

 

"It's ok, neither one was bad. I just didn't know which one to tell you." 

 

She finds herself smiling as he begins recounting a rover ride on a sunny day across the fields outside Arkadia. Raven was driving, and Jasper's music blasted in their ears as trees and flowers flicked by through the window. The sky was blue, and it was summer. Octavia galloped on Helios fast and free beside them on their tracking mission to the Ice Nation border. 

 

"That sounds fun," she says when he's done. "I wish I had been there." 

 

"I wish you had, too," Bellamy murmurs.

 

"Thanks for fixing me up, doc."

 

"Of course," Clarke returns. "That's my job."

 

"Yeah, it is," Bellamy responds, flicking a piece of hair behind her ear. "There's pink in it." 

 

"Mhmm," Clarke's hand swings up and glides over his when she touches her hair. "I dyed it with berries." 

 

Bellamy gives her a closed-lip smile while she secures his bandage. 

 

"You always were artistic." 

 

He takes in the portraits and landscapes dotting the walls. He finds the faces of their friends and loved ones. Their people. His stomach clenches when he arrives at the steady gaze of his sister staring back at him. 

 

She turns to see what he's staring at and is instantly flooded with guilt as the younger Blake's accusing eyes burrow under her skin. 

 

_His sister is trapped underground, and I didn't save her. I can't save her. Not without convincing Eligius. I can't reach my mom or Kane, Jackson or Miller, Niylah, Indra . ._. 

 

"Oh, good! You're done!" Monty's voice sings out behind them as the door creaks open, causing Clarke to jump. "We're starving. Let's get dinner ready." 


	4. Shadows of the Hills

The fire crackles merrily, dousing the room in a pleasant warmth that tunnels straight into Bellamy's bones. He's propped up against the wall, his hurt leg stretched in front of him, a bowl of soup in his lap. 

Echo slides into the space beside him on the floor with her food, eyes ever watchful sweeping the room. He's gotten used to her over the years, her steady presence, her fierce loyalty. 

"Feeling better?" she asks, dropping her hand carefully on his good knee. 

"Yeah, thanks," he turns his neck and gives her a half smile. 

She stares into his eyes for a few long moments, catching his lies like usual. 

"Mmm," is all she offers, rubbing her thumb against the coarse material of his pants. "You're a bad liar." 

He snorts. 

"You didn't think so when I said we'd recognize Ice Nation's rule in Polis," he watches her out of the corner of his eye. 

It takes a few seconds for her veneer to crack. 

"You've always been . . . uh . . . convincing," she smirks, showing the tops of her teeth. 

"Maybe you wanted to be convinced," he returns. 

Raven's shoulders stiffen from where she's talking to Harper near the window not far from them. She narrows her eyes at him, but he ignores her. They eat in silence for a few minutes. He lets some hot soup slide down his throat. It burns and blisters, but he likes the pain. 

Across the room, Monty is folding a bit of scrap paper together into a sort of bird for Madi. She grins when he hands it to her, making it flutter through the air by bending its delicate wings. 

There's the sound of creaking floorboards, and Murphy digs his elbow into Raven's side, gesturing toward the staircase. 

"Hi, Clarke," Raven says cheerfully when the blonde appears at the top of the stairs. "Come have some soup." 

Clarke's blue eyes ricochet around the small space, and he looks down at the dirt-streaked floor before the gaze lands on him. 

"Oh no . . .  I'm ok . . . " he hears her say. 

 

"Sit with us," Emori says pointedly. "We want you to!" 

"I'm not that hungry," she says quietly. 

He glances up at her petite frame despite himself because the sound of her voice is like a siren luring him in. Her limbs are pulled tense and taut. She's leaner than he's ever seen her, many of her soft curves gone from their first year on the ground, replaced by sharper lines.  

When she smiles, he sees it's hollow. The pit in his stomach grows while Echo brushes some dust off her clohtes beside him. He clangs his spoon against his bowl noisily and takes a big bite of whatever meat is floating in the brown liquid. Clarke settles down in a chair at the table next to Madi, stroking the girl's hair fondly, and the strange tenseness in the air slowly dissipates. 

"How are you taking all this?" Bellamy finally asks Echo with a vague wave of his hand. He's desperate for a distraction, and she's done nothing but provide one for the last six years.  "Ready to take on the ground again?" 

 

"Very much," she arches her eyebrows and yawns. "Space was not for me. I don't know how the hell your people did it for so long." 

 

"When it's all you know . . . " Bellamy shrugs. 

 

"Crazy," she sighs, curling up and leaning her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes at last. 

 

Bellamy swallows hard but barely moves. He feels Madi's piercing gaze on the side of his face, hears the drum of Harper's fingernails against the wooden table. 

 

Still, he tries to zone out, to spend just a few minutes in peace as his friends attempt stilted conversation around him. Because daybreak is going to come fast, and then he'll have to figure out what they're going to do. How they'll free the bunker. How they'll survive on this strip of green grass in the middle of a scorched and pock-marked landscape. He rubs his eyes wearily, the sinking sensation that there's something more, something sinister out there beyond the trees not going away. Maybe it's his history with the ground and the monsters it holds that creates the fear. The Grounders. The Mountain Men. The Reapers. The Chipped Army. Nature Itself. Always a fight. Always a struggle to prove he's fit enough to continue.

 

His body is young, but he's tired nonetheless. Mentally, it's like he's lived three centuries. Waiting in the sky. Wondering. Remembering. Regretting. 

 

There's the slightest breath of laughter, and he shudders in surprise because he forgot what it sounded like when she laughed. It's been lifetimes since he heard the graceful tinkling of bells. It's Murphy's shoulder she's pushing, and it sends a pulse of hot blood through his chest irrationally. 

 

He won't look at her. Because if he looks at her, if their eyes connect again, he doesn't know what he's going to do. Unbeknownst to him, he's fallen back in time. He feels like he's straight out of Sector 7 all over again, the janitor, playing big, internally losing it. Not knowing what to make of the complicated girl with the porcelain skin and fierce will. 

 

He still doesn't. Maybe he never will. 

 

***

 

The hypnotic orange-yellow flames used to soothe him when he first landed on Earth. But now they just remind him of watching the planet burn from GoSci against a starry backdrop, Raven standing stoically beside him not knowing what to say. 

 

Nobody ever knew what to say. He spent six goddamn years with Clarke's ghost hovering beside him as he walked aimlessly down the curved halls of the Ark. It was never hard to tell when the others were talking about him, about the shadows blooming under his eyes and the crow's feet springing up from nowhere. How many times had he seen Harper shush Raven, Murphy or Monty when she heard the thump of his approaching footfalls? The slump in his shoulders was real - and it became more pronounced month by month. 

 

No voices ever came from the radio Raven tried to reboot. 

 

The day he wandered into the control room he almost had a heart attack. They had been in space for six months, and the algae still tasted disgusting. Monty was leaned over a counter, pointing out something to Emori, holding it delicately in his hands. A flash of light brought it into focus. A wristband. 

 

_I'm getting that wristband, even if I have to cut off her hand to do it._

_The only way the Ark is going to think I'm dead is if I'm dead. Got it?_

Yeah, Princess. I got it. 

Sour liquid shot straight up his esophagus, coating the back of his mouth, making him gag. Emori whirled around on the spot, smiled at him, a little confused.

 

"Hi, Bell--" she started to say. 

 

"Oh, shit! Man, I'm sorry," Monty stuttered louder, talking over her. He scrambled to hit some buttons on the keyboard. 

 

It's the fact that the image was simply brighter than everything else in the dim room that caught his attention, made him look up. And there she was. 17. Golden. Glowing. Defiant even in her lockup picture. The  _Princess_. It felt like getting punched by reapers in unknowable caves. It felt like being chained to a wall while Pike aimed a gun at Lincoln's head. It felt like the burn of chemicals on his skin in the Mount Weather decontamination chamber. It felt like staring at the doors in Becca's Lab and seeing no one appear. 

 

Monty was saying something to Emori, but his ears hummed. He made it back into the hallway somehow, hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. 

 

***

 

"So you're really Bellamy, a hundred and one?" 

 

Madi's face is heart-shaped and earnest and too near his own. Bellamy jolts. Echo's hand stills where it was rubbing his shoulder. She turns her cat-like eyes on the girl. 

 

"What do you need?" she asks. 

 

Madi ignores her, one hundred percent focused on him. 

 

"You're Bellamy? One hundred and one?" she repeats. 

 

He shifts, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know what you mean," he says gruffly. 

"Well," Madi crouches down and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of him. As the last of Emori's chuckle dies away, a stillness settles over the warm space. "The Ark sent 100 kids to the ground, right? But you got on at the last minute disguised as a guard to be with your sister Octavia."

Clarke's heart is beating too fast. One second Madi was beside her, and the next, she was making a beeline for Bellamy. She takes in the clench of his jaw. 

"Madi, honey, my friends are tired. They traveled a long way," she tries. "You can talk to them tomorrow." 

"Yeah, that's right," Bellamy replies to Madi, a little hoarse, but not unkind. 

"Your sister, your responsibility," Madi nods wisely like a young yogi. 

Bellamy's dark eyes turn and catch hers before she can look away fast enough. Something tugs deep in her stomach, and she feels itchy on the back of her neck. But she bites her lip and refocuses on the cold vegetable broth congealing before her. Raven winks at her reassuringly. 

"We were never really the 100 at all, that's true," Harper says as if the idea just dawned on her. 

"Whenever I told the story of the dropship, Clarke always corrected me because I'd always forget how many people there were," Madi says simply, completely focused on Bellamy. "The 100 just sounded better," she smiles, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. "But she'd always say, 'a hundred and one, counting Bellamy.'" 

"Huh."

His mouth is dry, and he scratches the back of his neck. Murphy has to convert his laugh into a huge gulp of soup, which he subsequently starts choking on, causing Emori to rap him hard on the back as he splutters. 

"You're not what I expected," Madi says matter-of-factly. 

"What do you mean?" Echo demands. 

Bellamy rubs the scruffy beard framing his chin. Clarke is so still in her seat he wonders if she's gone into shock. 

Clarke feels her fingers twitch on her thigh with the urge to touch his beard at the same time her stomach rolls over. 

"It's just . . . the way Clarke described you in her stories, I thought you'd be . . . "

"Taller?" Monty supplies. 

"More good looking?" Murphy cuts in. 

Harper hits her fist into the rough hewn table, and Raven snorts loudly but quickly stifles it. Echo's lips are pulled in a thin line. 

"Leave him alone - he's attractive enough," Harper reaches far over on the backs of her chair legs to ruffle Bellamy's curls. 

Rather than relaxing him, it just seems to make him more tense. 

"Hey now!" Monty turns, pursuing his lips. 

"You know I love you," she blows him a kiss.  

He looks somewhat mollified and returns his attention to the conversation at hand. 

Madi's blue eyes are thoughtful, contemplating Bellamy's face cast in half-shadow from the fire. 

"No, that's not it," she says quietly. "You were the hero so many times, you know? And now you look so sad." 

"Oh," Bellamy says. "Well, it hasn't been a picnic, kid." 

For a moment, Madi's face falls. But she takes a deep breath, nods, and pulls herself up to her feet. There's a very uncomfortable silence amongst everyone else though. Clarke hears an owl hoot outside. She hides her flaming face behind her short hair as best as she can and pulls some of the dried herbs on the table toward herself to start chopping them up noisily. 

Bellamy's eyes burn into her shoulder a few moments later, but she doesn't glance up. The air always was too thick when he was around, though now it's for an entirely different reason she doesn't quite understand.

"Hey, Madi," Raven chirps unexpectedly, getting up and throwing an arm around the brunette's shoulders casually. "Clarke was telling me how she taught you all the constellations, but I never learned them. Do you think you could show me a few?" she gestures toward the door. 

Madi nods eagerly, a smile blossoming on her face. 

***

It's almost midnight, and Clarke finds herself folding laundry in a neighboring cabin. The full moon provides most of her light where it pours in silvery at the window. She couldn't sleep, so getting a headstart on tomorrow's chores seemed like a reasonable option. 

Well, it did until Bellamy appeared in the doorframe, filling most of it with his muscular build. 

"What are you doing up? You need to rest!" Clarke chastises him instantly, taking a few steps forward. 

He waves her off dismissively and takes a few pained steps into the room, hobbling. 

"You want to talk about it?" he asks, collapsing onto the long, low bench running the length of one wall. 

"Talk about what?" she returns.  

" _Do you want to talk about it_?" he enunciates every word clearly.

"I don't know what you mean," Clarke returns to her clothes and watches her pale hands slide against the fabric. 

"Clarke," he says roughly, and it sends a shiver straight up her spine. It's the voice he used to use with her, half-frustrated beyond belief, half undeniably fond. "I mean us." 

"What is there to say?" she says, a tad shrill, continuing to stare down at Madi's hunter green tunic. It's still stained with dark berry juice despite her best attempts to dunk it in the river and beat it against a rock. "It's been six years. We don't know each other anymore," she says crisply. "There is no us. There never really was." 

It's like being shot in the stomach. 

"I know you!" Bellamy snaps, voice so low it rumbles as he slams his fist into the bench. Anger and pain coat every word like a paintbrush. "You're my best friend, and I left you behind to die."  

Salty tears threaten to erupt from her eyes. 

She whirls around, shaking her head imploringly and swiping at her nose. 

"I told you to go!" she cries. "I wanted you to go and lead our friends! But don't you get it? We lost so much time. I know who you were, but I don't know who you've become."  

He flashes his eyebrows at her, bemused. The toes of his boots skim over the threadbare maroon carpet below him.  "Maybe we should talk about that then. Because it's not true. I'm the same."  

Clarke huffs and takes a few steps closer to him. Her heart runs like rapids in her ears. 

"That can't possibly be true, Bellamy," she says softly, drifting ever closer like he's her personal source of gravity. 

She doesn't realize how near she's drawn to his knees until he snaps out his hand and closes it around her slim wrist dangling at her hip, pulling her closer still.

"It's true," he whispers it, a puff of breath kissing her cheek. "I've been frozen in time."  

She missed his freckles and the dip of his biceps.  

"No," she shakes her head, swallowing hard. "I told you to  _live_." 

He's still holding onto her, yet she's already mourning the loss of his touch, his warmth. 

"You told me to be both me and you, but you had to know I'd fucking fail, Clarke!" he sounds slightly desperate. HIs grip on her tightens, but she steps closer still, letting her thighs brush along his knees.

"You didn't fail," she whispers, cupping his cheek with her palm. "You came home." 

"I kept trying to lead because I knew that's what you wanted!" his voice breaks, and his eyes shine. 

"You did good, Bellamy," she squeezes the top of his arm. "So good." 

"I thought you were dead, Clarke. For  _six_  years. Six, goddamn years." 

His thumb twitches over her wrist, and she jolts like a scared colt at the anger in his voice. But he grips her securely when she tries to back away. 

"We're not running anymore," he says it slowly, heavy. "I watched the Earth burn from space. I thought you were burning, too." 

Her gulp is audible, and the lump in her throat is hard to talk around. He smiles brokenly at her, and a strange sense of peace floods her system. He's still in there. The man she remembers. 

"You want to hear my other best memory?" 

 

She suddenly feels cold and hot all at once.

"Yeah," she hums, buzzing with electricity. 

"It was finding you alive in that cave with Roan." 

She meets his gaze with great effort, finding it dark and incredibly steady. His eyelashes fan out thickly, and she wants to run her thumb across his eyebrows. So she does.  

"I tried to talk to you," she squeaks. "Every day for six years." 

"What?" he blinks.

"On the radio. 2,199 days, Bellamy. You never answered. You were never there." 

His face is suddenly full of sympathy, crumpling with pain. He opens his arms for her to fall into. She does it unthinkingly, clinging to the fabric of his old, blue Henley and sobbing into his shoulder. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he cradles the back of her head, petting her blonde waves. 

"I never gave up hope," she mumbles, shielding her face from him. Her fingertips are white where she clutches into the reassuring thickness of his muscles. "I knew you were alive. I knew you all were alive." 

"You still had hope?" he echoes softly into her ear, rubbing the small of her back. "How?" 

"I was breathing, so you had to be, too,"  she disentangles herself from his chest at last, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and running a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry" she stumbles backward, nearly toppling over at a beam that's come unstuck from the floor. 

Bellamy moves to stand and steady her, but she's already backing up and shaking her head. 

"For what?" 

"Raven told me about . . . her, about you two on the Ark. I shouldn't have . . . run at you like that when I first saw you. I . . . I didn't know, didn't think. I'm sorry." 

Bellamy's brows knit together in puzzlement. 

"Raven told you about me and . . .  _Echo_  you mean?" 

Clarke nods as if to the music of her own funeral march. 

"Six years changes people," she grits out. "I'm glad you had someone who could be there for you. Tell me where the lines are, and I promise I won't cross them," she whispers to her boots. 


	5. Somebody That I Used to Know

"You don't talk to me like that." 

 

Clarke's face snaps up to meet his, confused. The grumble in his voice is still vibrating in her cells. 

 

"What?" she squints.

 

 

" _My_  Clarke doesn't doubt herself. She never asked me for permission about how to behave." 

 

_My Clarke?_

She's suddenly positively thrumming with energy as if she could go run several miles without being winded. There's the barest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth, so she can tell he's not really mad. But she's starting to be. 

 

"I'm not asking you for permission about how to behave!" she argues back, stepping closer to him again. 

 

It's a mystery for now how he remained so broad-shouldered on limited space equipment and algae alone. 

 

"I'm asking you to tell me what the deal is between you two, so she doesn't slit my throat in my sleep for looking at you wrong!" 

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but there’s a wince wrapped up in it. 

 

"I"m serious!" 

 

"Ok," he concedes, though she feels like he's patronizing her a little bit. "How would you be looking at me?" 

 

She _knows_  she's right when his black eyebrow arches up suggestively. 

 

Clarke's cheeks turn a pretty powder pink, but she stares resolutely out the one cracked window at the front of the small cabin. Bellamy watches the quintessential crinkle appear between her eyebrows while she chews on her lip. A bit of guilt erodes a tiny piece of the lining of his stomach. 

 

"Clarke," he says more gently, hesitantly dropping a hand on her upper arm. "You know I was kidding, I'm sorry." He sits back down on the bench, and she can't help it. She steps closer to him. He smells like woodsmoke, like he used to, and it's just been so  _long_. 

 

In the end, that's really all that can be said to explain it to him. 

 

"You don't know what it was like," she whispers. "I thought I would lose my mind before I found Madi. There was nobody for miles and miles, not even a rabbit or a bird." 

 

Her eyes flicker back up to his, and he finally sees a glimmer of hope there. Still, her words gut him. 

 

"I feel like I'm going to look at you . . . at _all_ of you," she swiftly corrects pointedly, "however the hell I want to because I waited so long to do it." 

 

Bellamy grins at that. 

 

"Works for me," he nods calmly. "But, just so you know, Echo's not really the same. Space kind of . . . uh, tamed her, I guess.  No armies to fight, no enemies to spy on . . . "

 

His voice trails away lamely, and he's very aware of it. The air around them hangs heavy once more.  

 

Clarke sucks in air through her teeth, running a hand through her short, choppy waves. 

 

"Nothing to blow up? No one to stab?" she hisses it out before she can stop herself. 

 

Bellamy makes a pained face.

 

"She tried to make herself useful, helping Monty with the plants and learning about tech to give Raven a hand . . . " 

 

"Fine," Clarke's hands find her hips. "She helped you all survive, and I'm grateful for that." 

 

"Clarke," Bellamy reaches for the dip of her waist, and she immediately steps to the side. "You wanted her to survive too. She's different now, better." 

 

"I thought you said people didn't change. That  _you_  didn't change in space. That you were the same." 

 

He looks genuinely lost for words. 

 

"I-I . . . am." 

 

"Then stop acting like such an ass!" 

 

There's a tense silence charged with crystallizing energy floating around their torsos before Bellamy finally breaks it by reaching out for her left hand and intertwining their fingers. Clarke stiffens but doesn't pull away this time. 

 

"I may not always know what to say. I may be an ass half the time . . . " his warm brown eyes lock on her much lighter ones hopefully, praying she'll finish the sentence. Clarke meets him halfway on the bridge he's built. 

 

"But I still need you," she gives him a watery smile. It's astonishing that he even remembers. It's been _six_ _years_. 

 

She's a mild cyclone knocking into his chest again, her grip fiercer than before. And then she's crying for real, taking in huge gulps of air to steady her trembling body while he strokes up and down the ridges of her spine. 

 

"Everything's going to be ok now," he reassures her. "We're going to be fine." 

 

"It's not fine," she argues into the sweaty pine of his neck, stepping back and wiping the bit of eye makeup -  _where did she find it?_ \- away from her lash lines. "Everything's different. Everything's changed!" 

 

"It hasn't," he shakes his head, voice a deep rumble of thunder. "I'm still your partner. We're still in this together." 

 

She scoffs. 

 

"Together, right," she pulls at a loose thread on her black tank top. 

 

"Hey," Bellamy lifts her chin with two fingers, and she latches her own around his good knee. "You have something to say?" 

 

"No," she grunts. 

 

"Clarke, just say it." 

 

"I'm good. We're good. I get it."

 

"What do you get?" 

 

"That it's been a long time, and things . . . shifted. Whatever. Like you said - we'll still figure out a way to lead."  

 

"Clarke, that's  _not_  what this is," he sounds genuinely upset, but she's finding it hard to look anywhere but at his intense jawline. 

 

"You're saying you're not the one I lead with?" she purses her mouth into a rosebud and blinks at him, annoyed. "Sorry, I must've missed your memo. Do I defer to Murphy now?"  

 

"Dammit, Clarke," he runs his hand through his oily locks. They're a little longer in the back and more slick. There's still the hint of the curly ringlets near his forehead, but they're tamer than she recalls, more controlled. Like him. "Of course I lead with you." 

 

"Not with Raven?" he watches her hard swallow. 

 

"She kicks my ass too much," he jokes. 

 

"And not with . . . Echo?" the name is tiny on her tongue. 

 

Bellamy shakes his head. 

 

"It's not her style to lead," he says simply. "She, uh, defers to others, I guess." 

 

Clarke feels a white stripe of heat zing up her spine.  _Ten guess who she "deferred" to,_ she thinks with an undeniable surge or jealousy heating her from the inside. 

 

"No, that's all me, right? I'm the bitchy one who orders everyone around." 

 

The words sound surprisingly tart to her ears, and she has no idea where the bitterness has suddenly come from. She genuinely _enjoyed_ leading, most of the time. She thrived on solving problems and negotiating to make sure her people were safe. Sure, it hadn't always been perfect. There were terrible losses over the years, and they'd all done unconscionable things, herself included. But she never really minded being the diplomat, the decision-maker, the one who _got things done_ while others waffled. 

 

"Clarke, you're being ridiculous!" Bellamy blurts out. 

 

His eyes widen as she stills, seemingly as shocked as she is that he critiqued her at all when he's been treating her like she was made of glass for the past few hours. 

 

"I'm not!" she feels herself firing up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She's ready to fight if he is. She's kind of  _longing_ to unleash some of the pent-up rage and frustration after months of staring out at the burnt hills with only Madi to speak to. She's never had to yell at Madi - raise her voice, sure - but not yell. Something is so fucked up in her mind right now. 

 

"You are," Bellamy's tone hardens. His fist clenches tight. 

 

"So why won't you say it?" Clarke pushes her fingers into the spongey flesh next to his collarbone. "Why can't you _tell_ me?" 

 

"What do you want to know?" 

 

She realizes his boot is behind her knee now, blocking her from moving backward. The warm span of his palm is pressing heat into her hipbone, the tips of his fingers skimming the edge of her shirt. He's never touched her there. It shouldn't turn her on - she wants to be _angry._ She wants to explode, let her face turn purple and her nails bite into the flesh of her palms.  

 

"You're going to make me say it," she grits instead. 

 

"Yeah. I wanna hear you say it." 

 

Maybe it's a taunt. Maybe it's honest. There's no way to know for sure. The crack in the window is larger than the last time she was in here. Dust is coating the remaining, rickety furniture in the cramped living room. She desperately wants to look into his face but finds herself looking at her fingernails instead.  

 

"Are you with her now?" 

 

If anything, Bellamy's answering grip on her hip tightens considerably, almost painfully. 

 

"No," he says slowly. "We never were. I couldn't --" his voice breaks, and he sounds young and small despite his size. She remembers that he kept his sister a secret for nearly sixteen years under the floor of the Ark. Lost his shot at the Guard when he let her out once to see a moonrise and dance in a glittering mask. That his mother was floated. His girlfriend blown up. That LIncoln had a bullet blasted into his brain by a man he used to trust. She remembers that it was she who made him stay at camp when they crash-landed, she who convinced him to help her lead the rest of the kids, and well, they both know what dark and twisting road that took them down. He's the only one who understands, but she doesn't even know what to say anymore after so many nights of waiting to speak to him. Over two thousand nights. 

 

Clarke presses her hand back to his prickly cheek, and he leans into it, half-closing his eyes. 

 

"Couldn't what, Bell?" she breathes it lightly, not even able to say his full name through the dryness of her throat. 

 

"I couldn't let you go." 

 

Her eyes swim with unshed tears, and she leans forward to press a salty kiss on his cheek, winding a few fingers right into the edge of his hair hesitantly. 

 

"I couldn't let you go either," she admits against his familiar smooth skin. 

 

He lets out a big sigh. 

 

"That's good to hear, Princess," he wraps both arms around her waist, pulling her toward the gap between his knees as she rests against his shoulder. Her heart is thudding too rapidly, like a hummingbird's, pulsing in her ears. Something is still off, not quite right about how he feels in her arms. This isn't what she imagined when she let her mind travel here from time to time. He's too stiff, still harboring some festering secret. 

 

 

"What is it?" she draws back to watch him. 

 

"Nothing," he says smoothly. 

 

"Don't lie to me, Bellamy," she snaps. Again, the anger slithers just below the icy surface like a water beast. 

 

_Say it, say it, say it_ she chants to him in her brain. Of course he probably won't. He never liked to hurt her. 

 

"You care about her, don't you?" 

 

He emits a small, dry chuckle and looks away. 

 

"I care about all of them, Clarke. I care about  _you,"_ he fixes her with a pointed stare that makes her stomach jump. 

 

It's a ridiculous question, one her old self would never ask, would never want to know. It's not who they are. It's not what they would talk about. But six years, well, it changes things. 

 

"So you're not sleeping with her then?" she folds her arms over her chest, and he tries not to pay attention to the way it pushes up her breasts. 

 

It hangs like a guillotine right over his head, threatening and sharp. 

 

"You're really going to ask me that?" he wets his lips. 

 

The tip of his tongue is a pleasant pink. 

 

"Yeah," she tucks her hair behind her ear and squares her shoulders, a few steps away from him now. "I am. I need to know. It . . . changes things. It changes how we survive." 

 

His face immediately folds into an expression of concern. 

 

"What the hell aren't you telling me, Clarke?" he demands. 

 

She brushes it off with a swat of her hand. 

 

"You first." 

 

"You never gave a damn about the girls in my tent at the dropship," he spits. "You never even  _met_  Gina--" he breaks off, suddenly sad. His eyes say so much when they stare into hers - _did they always? Did she really pay attention?_  

 

Her heart tears like Monty's thin paper, the kind perfect for folding into bird shapes. But birds can fly away when they sense danger coming. 

 

"I wish I had," she says softly, reaching out to squeeze his forearm briefly before letting her hand drop. "Everyone said the best things about her. I know she was special," Clarke tries to keep her voice from shaking, "because she knew you were special."  

 

Bellamy swallows and nods. She has a flashback in her mind's eye to his cautiously closed face in Becca's Lab during their last full conversation alone. He subtly dismissed her praise leaning back toward the gray machines on the wall, standing there in the hazy blue of the second floor in his bright space suit. She told him he had a big heart, and he absorbed it without believing it. She could tell. She said she didn't really like him . . . at first. But he didn't fully hear, didn't fully believe what she meant. That she'd come to . . . love, yes. Love him. How could he know? She had never said it, not in words. 

 

Now the ache of not saying it is ripping a chasm down the center of her body. 

 

Bellamy's eyes flash black. 

 

"So that's a no . . . about Echo?" Clarke manages, dragging herself from her reverie. 

 

"I didn't say that," he mutters quiet and controlled. 

 

She blinks furiously and looks toward the dirt-encrusted floor. Being stabbed by her mother hurt a little bit less.  

 

"Ok," she says at last, taking a shuddering breath. "Ok, I deserved that." 

 

"What?" he snaps angrily, shaking his head and pounding a fist into his thigh. "No you don't! I thought you were  _dead_!" 

 

"Don't!" 

 

She immediately reaches for his hand, not thinking, to stop him from hurting himself. His anger, his despair is rolling off him, and she doesn't know what to do with all of it. She doesn't realize she's crying again until the liquid begins running down her cheeks. 

 

"I'm sorry I didn't make it back in time," she whispers. "I wanted to." 

 

Bellamy's expression morphs into that of someone being emotionally tortured. 

 

"Jesus, Clarke, I know! I wanted to go with you! I never should have let you go alone! I shouldn't have let Raven blast off. I shouldn't--"

 

"No, no, no, no," Clarke shakes her weary head and places a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You did what you had to do. Leaders do what they think is right, and you saved our people." 

 

"So why do I feel like I betrayed you in every way I could?" 

 

It's such a raw question that the force of it hits her like a bullet. 

 

"You didn't," she reassures him, rubbing down his arm, though the stabbing in her chest screams otherwise. "You never could." 

 

He's staring sightlessly at his lap, twisting his hands together. 

 

"But, Clarke, you never said you, that you wanted to. . . not really . . . you had Finn . . . and then Lexa. There was Niylah," he's mumbling. 

 

Clarke takes a tiny step closer and curls her hand tentatively around his good knee. "Did you  . . . " he's sounding more desperate, and she feels her spine tighten like she wants to bolt but forces herself to remain upright before him. Vulnerable. Exposed. "No," he shakes his head, confused. "You didn't . .. " he's trying to convince himself, and she feels so much for him in that moment, it causes water to flow from the corners of her eyes.  

 

"I did," Clarke says softly, reaching up her free hand to touch his beard again. She smiles when the warmth of his palm leeches into her waist. "I always needed you. I cared about you too much, Lexa told me so right before I sent you into Mount Weather. I didn't want to do it. "

 

He bites his lip and narrows his eyes, and a ripple of understanding passes from her to him. "Even then, I- I pushed it down, away. I couldn't. I was broken. I--"

 

She's struggling to speak through the new wave of liquid rising in her throat. 

 

"You cared about me?" Bellamy says roughly, fingers digging into her side a little harder. 

 

"I cared about you" Clarke repeats, finally meeting his eyes fully, letting a hand glide down to the space over his heart she touched six years before when she believed she was dying. It's still beating strong, if a bit erratically. His breath is warm where it grazes her cheek. "You were the best one of us all. You still are," she nods encouragingly, feeling more exposed than the herbs she hung up to dry this morning. 

 

"But I thought you didn't know me anymore," Bellamy jokes after a pause, smiling tentatively at her. It's boyish and warm and everything that's kept her hopeful all those evenings she stared up into the sky in search of the brightest star where he lived. 

 

"I know you," Clarke says softly. "I love you."  

 

It slips out because the words are spicy in her mouth and have a mind of their own. 


	6. Slide Into Yesterday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some editing to the previous chapter. You might want to reread it before reading this one. Nothing major and no big plot changes or anything! I just wanted to add a little more dialogue and some character interiority that I felt was lacking. I'm now more satisfied with it. Thanks, everyone!

The room is very still, and Clarke holds her breath, unsure how her proclamation will land. She can't believe she said it, really. But now it's out there floating in the air around them, swirling and suffocating like a breeze coating her throat with dust as the seconds tick by. 

 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

 

A flash of shock passes over Bellamy's face, followed swiftly by pain and a tightening at her hip. 

 

"You love me?" comes the deep rumble of his voice. 

 

Clarke bites her lip, blinking back her tears. She sniffles. 

 

"Yeah .... for, uh, six years now." 

 

He tilts his head to the side, twisting his mouth into the same expression he wore that day a lifetime ago when he pushed the hair out of her face and told her cold sweat was an oxymoron. She drops her hand from his chest, drawing it back but not before he can catch her wrist. She jolts. 

 

"Six years is a long time," he whispers against her cheek. 

 

"It's been longer than that, but who's really counting?" she jokes weakly, the barest trace of flirtation in her smile. Or maybe it's a trick of the light. She braces one palm on his uninjured thigh, pressing into the muscle there, feeling suspended in time. 

 

He's back on the GoSci ring, arms crossed over his chest, starting through many inches of glass at the burning Earth while his friends gag on algae at the table behind him. He's lost in her eyes that are bluer than the oceans he saw when the smoke and ash infiltrating the land and air finally cleared. 

 

"I didn't want to leave you," he says softly, rubbing his thumb on the edge of her wrist. 

 

"Everyone dies here, Bellamy," Clarke says through her tears. "But when I saw the rocket go up from the tower..." 

 

He hangs his head, clasping her hand more tightly.

 

"No, please. Don't feel bad," she cups his cheek until he raises his head back up. The beard is rough under her fingers. "I knew you'd live. I knew Raven would take care of you all." 

 

 "I didn't live," he mutters, and her breath catches. 

 

"Bellamy--"

 

"Clarke--"

 

They speak at the same time. She laughs nervously. 

 

The hard knock on the doorframe is jarring. 

 

"Bellamy?" comes the melodic voice of Echo. "There you are!" 

 

Clarke turns in slow-motion, a feeling of sickness slipping into her stomach like sour milk. 

 

"Hey," Bellamy says weakly, dropping his hands immediately. 

 

Echo's washed her face clean and put on an old, long blue shirt that Clarke recognizes from her storage pile. Her lean legs glint in the moonlight, ending in a pair of scuffed grey boots. 

 

Echo's eyebrows creep upward. Her smile seems forced. 

 

"You couldn't sleep?" she asks. "I woke up and you were ... gone." 

 

Bellamy rubs a hand over his face and casts an apologetic look at Clarke. 

 

"Uh, bad dream," he murmurs. "I'll be there in a second, ok?" 

 

Clarke's face heats up as Echo passes her eyes over the pair of them once more, nods curtly, then turns away and leaves. 

 

Her lip curls up in a half-laugh, half-snarl. 

 

"You're not together," she levels him with a disbelieving stare. 

 

He feels like a bug pinned to the cork boards Jasper found in an old bunker during the dropship days. 

 

"Echo had a hard time adjusting to space," he says, as if choosing his words deliberately. "She would wake up screaming at night, you know, all the shit she lived through," he taps weakly on the side of his head. "It fucks you up." 

 

Clarke laughs out loud at that, dark and hollow.

 

"Yeah, must've been a real nightmare for her." 

 

"Clarke--" he stands again. 

 

"It's fine," she steps cleanly away though her skin's still jumping irrationally for his touch. "You go back to bed, make sure she gets her rest, and I'll finish up here." 

 

He sucks in air through clenched teeth, shoulders squaring as he stands. She knows that position. He's ready to argue with her. 

 

"Clarke, you know how I felt about what she did to Gina, to Octavia. But it was just the seven of us, and over time..." he trails off. "I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell to say right now. I thought you were dead. I was--"

 

She watches the tears well up in his eyes, twitches to reach for him again and wrap him in her arms but resists it. 

 

"Gutted." The word lands with a thud at her feet. Hearing it just makes it worse. 

 

"I'm not here to judge you," her eyes flash with a biting anger he doesn't think he's ever seen reserved for him nevertheless. "We're all too far past judgment now. We're damned every way I can see it."  

 

"What do you mean?" his face immediately morphs into concern, but she brushes away the look with a swat of her hand. 

 

"I know it had to be hell up there. At least I had fresh air and space to move around," she says at last. "If you want me to say that it's fine--"

 

"That's not what I want from you." It's a broken gasp. "That's not what we do for each other." 

 

She shrugs limply, looking away. "I - I don't think I can give you that either right now." 

 

He nods, staring at the ground. It's like guilt is leaving him in waves. 

 

"Forgiveness is hard for us," he mumbles. 

 

She gasps. 

 

"It's not supposed to be." 

 

"I don't know how to make this right, Clarke," he collapses back onto the table, weary. 

 

There's something more buried in the layers of his chiseled cheekbones and too-dark eyes. She has no idea what. Her brain is screaming  _get rid of her,_ but she'd never say it. And he can't feel like he claims to if he won't suggest it himself. 

 

"Well, we don't have to figure it out tonight," she says clipped, stepping farther away. 

 

He blinks, looking sincerely heartbroken. 

 

"Was it . . . back then . . . ?" 

 

Her lips pucker into a rosebud while her nostrils flare, and she finally stares back into his questioning eyes. 

 

"You know it was. You were my person. I told you every day of the last six years, but you just didn't get my messages." 

 

"If I did, if I had--" he sounds utterly destroyed, knotting his hand in his hair so tight, she's afraid he'll pull it out. "There's no way--"

 

"But you didn't," Clarke says firmly. 

 

"I couldn't! I just pictured you dead a thousand different ways!" The rich anger feels cathartic vibrating off his vocal cords. 

 

"That's not my fault." He can barely hear her. 

 

"No, it's my fault." 

 

He steps closer to her despite her crossed arms, hovers inches from her slight shoulders. There's warmth to him as always and the musk of fire and dirt. 

 

"Princess, I want to fix it--"

 

"Go. Please. I can't." She turns, knowing seeing the freckles and the too-long curls and the scar above his lip will send her collapsing back into him. 

 

Bellamy's hand is hot and firm on her upper arm, and for one moment she breathes deeply and just feels it there. But then she stalks away. 

 

"Clarke, please." 

 

She laughs, and it sounds like ribbons ripping in the wind. 

 

"Go be the Rebel King, Bellamy. I'm tired of waiting for the Prince to show up. I don't need it - I've been rescuing myself my whole damn life." 

 

She hurries toward the laundry pile, turning her back on him. It takes lifetimes to hear the creak of the floorboards, but finally, she does. It's only then that she lets out a strangled breath and begins to cry. 

 

***

 

Later, she creeps back up into the smallest bedroom on the second floor of the house, not sparing a glance for the tangle of blankets near the fireplace as she climbs the stairs. She crawls into bed next to Madi, pulling the covers up to her chin and staring at the drab wood plank ceiling. 

 

"Clarke?" Madi rolls over. "Are you ok? Where were you?" 

 

"I'm good, babe. Go back to sleep." 

 

Madi's heart-shaped face appears in her line of vision a moment later, chin propped up on the palm supported by her elbow. She was always too damn smart for her own good. 

 

"Your eyes are red." 

 

"It's the pollen ... allergies," Clarke replies, turning over onto her side. "Now go to bed. Goodnight." 

 

Madi huffs a huge sigh than rolls over herself.

 

"I thought he'd be different," Clarke thinks she hears her grumble. 

 

It slices through her chest painfully. She begins reciting every bone of the human body to herself, desperately shoving away the smattering of freckles and kind brown eyes that pop up occasionally even as she actively works to keep them at bay. She dreams of spike-filled pits and strong arms letting her fall, of too-much makeup and a tight, gold dress, of handcuffs and watching his shoulders stalk away.  

 

***

 

The sun rises serenely in the green valley several days later, and Bellamy wakes with it. His thigh is tender to the touch but already healing. It's just a mottled pink line of a scar over tight skin where Clarke's stitches held. His ankle can bear weight now too, and he can walk some distance, as long as he doesn't overdo it. 

 

He dresses quietly, steps over Harper whose lean frame is wrapped around Monty's. The fact that their relationship survived the sky, the demons of the dead chasing them down the curved, silver halls, tastes like poison rather than hope today.

 

Yet there isn't much time to consider it. He desperately wants to check out the nearest river and scrub the grit off his body before the others wake. The air smells fresh like after a rainstorm, and he breathes deeply, remembering the first storm he ever experienced on Earth. Tipping his head back to the sky near the gate of their camp and watching the silver-grey clouds loom in awe. He grabs a wooden buckets near the fireplace and slides a scrap of old cloth into it before hoisting a bow and arrow onto his shoulder. It's possible he'll find something small to hunt for breakfast. The woods are a lush and welcoming green, the soil damp and springy under his feet when he sets out. 

 

A few minutes later, he stands on the edge of an enormous hillside overlooking the valley. He's near the caves Clarke first took them to when they arrived. A gentle breeze is blowing in the branches overhead, but he doesn't hear any rustling in the underbrush. The trails were clean of paw prints on his way down the path. He sits on an upturned stump and stares off into the distance where sharp, granite mountains circle their new home. 

 

It's strange in a way that closes his throat to think that they're really it, all that remains of the human race. There's only the nine of them now, plus everyone in the bunker if they can even get them out. Monty and Raven have been trying to figure out a way to use the rocket as leverage to blow open the bunker door. Meanwhile Echo, Emori and Murphy have hiked the hills to get a feel for the landscape.  It's possible Harper is taking Madi out on small field trips and helping her with target practice because he hears sharp pops vibrate through the air occasionally when he's walking through the clearing near their cottages. 

 

There's no way to communicate with Octavia. He hopes Kane, Abby, and Indra are forces of calm in the bunker because he doesn't trust Jaha to be. His sister's voice on that last radio transmission at Becca's Lab where she insisted she didn't know how to lead, couldn't do this without his help, still cloaks him like a miserable ghost. 

 

And then there was last night. Raven spoke quietly to Clarke and Madi as they roasted some rabbit meat on skewers across the fire. But the smoke obscured half his vision, and Clarke kept her body turned away from him anyway. At one point, something Raven said made Clarke laugh. She tipped her head back, and the sound of wind chimes hit him right in the chest. Her eyes cut into him momentarily, and he realized Raven was miming shaving with unsteady hands, opening her mouth in a guffaw and smirking. She gestured over in his general direction, and he didn't even care that the joke was at at the expense of his beard. Watching Clarke's blonde waves glint in the firelight wreaked havoc on his gut. When he tried to talk to her afterward, she sidestepped him swiftly before he could even approach. 

 

"Harper, Emori, you guys probably want to get to bed soon if we're going fishing tomorrow," she'd said kindly. "We need to stock up on supplies for the trip to the bunker. It's 150 miles from here, and there's no arable land on the way from what I've seen."

 

Bellamy had sighed, clenching his fists and his jaw simultaneously and watched her stride away from him into the quiet night. She was a little thinner than he remembered, but her hips still curled out pleasantly as she moved, and he missed her so much it stung like knife blades in his side. He itched to follow her--to find a private spot in the woods and deal with it. But then he remembered, and he couldn't. 

 

Instead, he sighed heavily and slid into his pallet next to Echo, waiting for a sleep that would never come. She tried to run a soothing hand up his arm, but he jerked way without thinking, and she frowned, propping herself up on her elbow. 

 

"Bellamy," she said, voice low and hushed. 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"I just want to say ... It's all right. I understand." 

 

"Understand what?" he snapped too quickly. "What are you talking about?" 

 

He caught her cat-like eyes glimmer in the dying embers of the fire. In the corner of the cramped room, Murphy gave a strange twitch under his blankets. 

 

"I  _know_  how you feel about her." 

 

It was calm, a declaration, devoid of most emotion. 

 

"Felt about her," he clarifies swiftly because it's pointless to deny it. 

 

She shakes her head, tapping lightly on his forearm. He accepts the touch this time. 

 

"No," she sings lowly. "Don't lie to me. I deserve better than that." 

 

His hand coasts down to the swell of her stomach where something the size of a blueberry blooms. 

 

"You know I wouldn't leave you ... either of you," his face is painted with shadows. 

 

"But you won't really be with us either." She swipes away a tear. "This isn't easy, Bellamy. Imagine what it's like to watch you watch her." 

 

He grunts and says nothing, rolling onto his side. 

 

"What do you want me to do?" he grits out. 

 

"I'm sorry," she rubs his shoulder. "I know nobody thought she was alive. I know--"

 

"You don't know," he says bitterly. "You were only trying to save yourself that day. We  _left_  her behind. She's my people. You don't know." 

 

Echo bites back a quiet sob as the tears stream out of the corners of her eyes and down into the crevices of her ears. Her mind flits back to Queen Nia, the snowy peaks of Ice Nation, to Roan and his white-boned crown. Her people. His people. Her thumb brushes casually over the skin of her midriff. There is no  _their_  people. Just Space Crew, and they're slipping back into Sky Crew with each day Clarke interacts with them. She feels the tug away like water flowing downstream. It's getting harder to swim against it. 

 

Over the years, she spent many nights lying beside Bellamy Blake on his long, narrow cot. Clarke had consumed his thoughts, burrowed deep into both his heart and his brain. Her blotchy, radiation-soaked face came to him in his nightmares, where she screamed from the burns. She yelled his name, told him to wait for her as she tried to run at a pace that could never reach the rocket in time. He woke up sweaty and frantic, hands scrambling across blankets looking for the blonde hair and a petite figure that was never there. 

 

Sleeping with Bellamy had been a mistake. They hadn't done it often, but, then again, it didn't take much to wind up the way she now found herself. Totally unloved by the father of her child. Respected, mostly. Sometimes even liked. But certainly not loved the way he loved the young woman sleeping just upstairs. 

 

"You're right," she sighs, turning onto her own side, so their backs face each other. "I have no idea. I can only imagine from every story you told me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conageddon was EVERYTHING. All that amazing Bellarke content. All the amazing Beliza, Zach, Taysa and Rhiannon moments. We are so lucky. Who's excited for Season Five!?!?! I know I am!!


	7. Talk About It

 

"Wait, I'm sorry, I must have heard you wrong," Murphy snaps. "What did you just say?" 

 

Bellamy stares down at the shoots of green making their way through the hills of dirt at his feet. The sun's already high in the sky, and it's burning his arms a deeper brown. 

 

"You heard me," he grits. 

 

"What the fuck, man?" 

 

Murphy flings his arms over his head, cradles the back of his neck with his palms and lets out a low whistle. "What the actual fuck?" 

 

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

 

His voice is dead, lifeless as the miles of land that stretch out and away from them in every direction. But here, in their corner of the woods, a stream flows merrily over wide, flat rocks, and a lone bird chirps. 

 

"Yeah, but what about Clarke?" 

 

Bellamy bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Murphy stares at him expectantly, blunt as usual. His shoulders slump as if small hands are pressing on them. 

 

"I slept with her three times," he mutters to no one in particular. "Twice in the first year and then, once, I don't know, two months ago?"

 

He scratches his head. 

 

"Raven didn't think she could get us down and we were already so late coming back, and I guess I just felt ... like there was nothing left. No hope." 

 

His buries his face in his hands, wants to scream but suppresses it. 

 

"Shit," Murphy says, stepping over and clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Bellamy. I know, uh, I know how you feel about her." 

 

The her goes unnamed. It's not like there's any confusion about who he means. Bellamy remains silent. 

 

"You, uh, you know you've got to tell her, right? It's hard to keep something like a kid a secret for long, and Clarke's smart, and she'll--"

 

He cuts off immediately at the murderous look on Bellamy's face and backtracks over his words.  _It's hard to keep something like a kid a secret for long._

Unless you're the Blake family.

 

Yeah. Shit _._

 

***

 

"Clarke?" 

 

"Yeah?" she tries to fake a smile, but Raven's shrewd eyes linger on her face instead of the aggressive strokes she's using to skin a potato. 

 

"Uhhh, did that potato threaten to kill you or something?" 

 

"What?" Clarke shakes her head, blinking. 

 

Raven sighs, and reaches out from where she's fiddling with leftover radio parts she managed to store in the pod before they left the Ark, stilling Clarke's motion with her steady hand. 

 

"You're gonna cut off a finger if you keep swiping at it like that," Raven warns. She raises an eyebrow. "What's going on with you?" 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

Clarke sits back and throws the crumbled potato skins onto the table, leaning on her chair legs until they creak. 

 

"Well," Raven's tone sings up carefully, but Clarke can still hear its placating nature. "You've been moping around here for the last few days when you should be fucking thrilled to see me, for starters." 

 

That at least gets Clarke to glance up, and Raven cracks a smile. 

 

"Come on, Griffin," she pats her shoulder. "We're gonna free the bunker. Monty and I are gonna blow that bitch of a door sky high, and--"

 

"That's not it." 

 

It's icy and final. 

 

Raven's brow crinkles in confusion. 

 

"Ok," she says slowly. "Shoot." 

 

Clarke sighs and pushes the hair out of her eyes. 

 

"Maybe we should just go fishing now instead of waiting for twilight," she hedges. 

 

"We could," Raven tilts her head. "I think Murphy and Bellamy are by the steam you mentioned getting some water. We could catch up with them?" 

 

"Nevermind," Clarke mutters so lowly Raven can barely hear her as she reaches out to pick up the sliver of metal she's been using as a vegetable peeler. 

 

"Ooohhh, I get it. Two seconds on the ground, and you two are already having problems again, aren't you?" 

 

There's really only sarcastic fondness in Raven's voice, but Clarke's skin still prickles like she's being attacked by wasps. 

 

"We're not fighting." 

 

"Uh-huh. That's why you've been talking to him so much at dinner the last few nights, right?" 

 

When Clarke's ice-azure eyes lock on hers though, all she sees is pain. 

 

"You said they weren't together," she whispers through her cracked lips. 

 

Raven is instantly on her feet and beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

 

"They're  _not,_ " she insists, shaking the blonde lightly. "Bellamy spent the first year in space glued to the goddamn window staring down at Earth like a depressed mute. Nobody could say your name, Clarke. He ran these constant laps around the ring just to get the memory of you out of his head. I'm telling you the truth," she insists as Clarke's already shaking her head. 

 

"I tried to talk to him," she swipes at the back of her nose and breathes in the comforting sage smell that often cloaks Raven. "But Echo came. I saw them together. I - I  _know_." 

 

Raven swallows hard. 

 

"Did Bellamy say something to you directly about it?" 

 

There's a few seconds' pause before Clarke shakes her head. "He said they were never together, but they're close, aren't they? I mean ... she wants to sleep right beside him!" 

 

"She gets nightmares," Raven shrugs. "So does he." 

 

Clarke's laughter is bitter. 

 

"I'd rather it have been you. After what I did to you." 

 

The words are out of her mouth before she can properly think through them. Raven's grip on her upper arm becomes momentarily tighter before she draws back completely. 

 

"You didn't know about me and Finn," she says sharply and clearly. "It's not the same. But, uh, there's something you don't know," she bites down heavily into her pink-brown lower lip with her pointed canine. "That I never told you." 

 

Clarke's eyes are small pools of liquid when she looks up. 

 

"You slept with Bellamy when Finn and I went missing," she huffs. "Very old news, Ray." 

 

"He  _told_  you," Raven whispers it, stunned. 

 

"Yeah," she says it with a snort. "He was on guard duty really late one night in Arkadia after we destroyed ALIE but before the Earth really went to shit." 

 

Raven chuckles. 

 

"I went to the fence with a snack for him, climbed all the way up the ladder and everything. Told him I'd keep him company if he wanted." 

 

She can tell Raven's trying not to smirk. 

 

Clarke lets her hair fall back across her cheekbones as the flush rises. 

 

"Ah-hem," Raven clears her throat loudly. "Do NOT stop there. It's been years of this angsty bullshit. I need a payout." 

 

Clarke gives her the finger, and Raven falls back into her chair with a thud, rubbing her calf muscles underneath her brace. 

 

"I must've fallen asleep on that old couch they kept up there, but when I woke up, I went over to him. I remember," she holds up her arm in mid air as if about to touch someone, "tapping his shoulder, and when he turned around, he looked so ... sad. He told me I was grieving, and people do things they don't mean when they're upset." 

 

Clarke frowns. 

 

"Oh," Raven hangs her head for a moment, but when she takes in Clarke again, the tips of her mouth curve up like she’s realizing something. "That son of a bitch told you the truth about it."

 

Clarke gives a noncommittal jerk of her head. 

 

“We don’t lie to each other. At least, we didn’t.” 

 

"He's right. It was once and never again. I thought Finn left camp with you. I was a wreck. He was there. He'd been nice to me that day. I have eyes..." she drifts off and watches Clarke from under her eyelashes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used him." 

 

"He wasn't mine," she returns hollowly. "And he let himself be used the way he told it." 

 

There's an awkward tension filling the makeshift kitchen that Clarke breaks when she lays her hand back over Raven's. 

 

"You took care of him in space. You took care of all of them. You did good, Raven." 

 

She pretends not to notice when the brunette wipes hastily at a few salty teardrops sliding down her cheek. A moment later, they're both jolted to an upright position when Madi tears into the dim space, clouds of dust floating in behind her. 

 

"Clarke!" she yells loudly. "You've got to come! Quick, come on!" 

 

She's red in the face and bends over, clutching at her knees. 

 

"What?" Clarke rushes to her side, alarmed. "What happened? Is someone hurt?" 

 

Madi sucks in a huge breath of air and nods fervently. 

 

"It's Echo! We found her in the woods. She was leaned against a tree, yelling and  _bleeding_. Harper told me to get you. I ran all the way back up the trail--"

 

"Ok, breathe. It's gonna be ok," Clarke pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. 

 

She shares a fast, scared look with Raven, seeing her almond-shaped eyes widen. 

 

"She couldn't be--"

 

Raven opens her mouth, gapes, closes it again. The pain hovering between them is palpable. 

 

"It's possible," Raven whispers back, an uncommon weariness lining her face. 

 

"Come  _on!"_ Madi cries out, tugging at Clarke's hand. "We've got to go  _now_!" 

 

That's all it takes. Clarke moves with a swiftness Raven can't believe, grabbing for a patchwork knapsack of what she can only assume to be scavenged medical supplies and darting for the door. 

 

"Madi," Raven says kindly to the girl, crouching down, so they're face to face. "I need you to go to the river and get Bellamy, ok? Can you do that? I'm gonna stay with Clarke and make sure Echo's ok." 

 

Madi nods with the total trust only a child can bestow before sprinting for the tree line. Within seconds, the splash of her dark green shirt is lost amidst the tree bark and blaring sunshine. 


	8. The Long Way Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate to say this, but anybody who thinks we're free and clear of Becho in S5 underestimates how much this show enjoys creating screwed-up relationships.

_"I heard her sing in tongues of silver_

_I heard her cry on a summer storm_

_I loved her, but she did not know it_

_So I don't think about her anymore._

_Now she's gone, and I can't believe it,_

_So I don't think about her anymore._

_If three and four were seven only_

_Where would that leave one and two?_

_if love can be and still be lonely,_

_Where does that leave me and you?_

_Time there was, and time there will be_

_Where does that leave me and you?"_

_~"Buckskin Stallion Blues," Townes Van Zandt_

Echo wipes her sweaty brow with the dirt-streaked back of her hand and tries to stay calm. The sun's heat is too intense, leaving long rivulets of sweat pooling at the base of her back. She can hear Harper's shallow breathing, swats away her gentle touch when she tries to blot her forehead with a bit of cloth. The tree bark cuts into her skin abrasively, but it feels good. The pain feels good. She saw the spots of crusty blood back on the Ark, ignored them. But this, these cramps crush through her stomach like a pulverizing force, too agonizing to be ignored.  _The Earth always finds its way back to balance_ , Queen Nia used to say. Maybe it was true. Her people, Azgeda, well, they were still buried in the ground. She'd free them soon. Amidst the pain, she's surprised to feel a wave of relief lap from the base of her neck to the tips of her toes. 

 

Then the next stabbing sensation hits. Eyes squinted tight shut, she grits her teeth and finally accepts the softness of Harper's fingers around her own. 

 

Minutes or hours later - who's to say? - there's a flash of blonde hair, a shriek, a curse, the sound of a hand slapping against skin. She registers strong, secure arms scooping her up before the undertow pulls her away. 

 

***

 

" . . . we saw their camp . . . how long . . . stop lying . . . why would I trust . . . I told you . . . " 

 

The bits of conversation buzz around her slow-moving mind as the room comes into focus. She's lying down in a bed in Clarke's cabin, the tattered blankets pulled almost to her chin. 

 

"Echo? Can you hear me?" 

 

The voice is high-pitched but reassuring, the smile sincere. Her gut lurches unpleasantly. 

 

"I'm ok," she croaks, gazing around the small, cramped space. There's a dresser pushed against the wall and a full-length mirror shoved into a corner - a long crack zigzagging down its middle. Strange shawls, some with beads, wrap around the bedposts like snakes. Only, she's never seen such bright snakes. 

 

It takes her more than a moment to realize it's Bellamy who's holding her hand, who's curled up on his knees beside her. She turns her neck very slowly, already knowing what she'll find there. There's guilt in his eyes. It expands and lingers, crowding out the warmth of the brown she normally sees. 

 

_Life will be better on the ground, you'll see. You're one of us now. And we take care of our own._

 

She shoves the memory down, down past the shuddering of her esophagus and into the quiver of her belly. His fingers reach out to delicately cup her cheek but she shakes her head, forcing them away. 

 

Clarke's intake of breath is audible. 

 

"Stop it," she says more leveled than she could have hoped.

 

"Echo . . . " his voice tears.

 

Clarke rocks back on her heels from the opposite side of the bed. She can just make out Raven's athletic frame beyond the door where she waits in the shadows. The others are downstairs picking at their dinner. Occasionally, she hears the scrape of silverware against pottery. 

 

"Don't, you don't have to," Echo breaths deeply and shuts her eyes again, collapsing onto the pillows. "I release you. I could never hold you anyway." 

 

Bellamy's hand shakes where it's hovering over Echo's hip. Clarke can't meet his eyes, but she can't stop watching it tremble. 

 

"I - I should go. Leave you two for a bit. There's tea," she points weakly toward the mug beside the chipped water pitcher she'd once decorated with painted fruits. Her throat's closing up. 

 

Even after six years, she can sense Bellamy's pleading gaze on her skin, though she can't really decipher what it means anymore.  _Stay? Go? Run, I'll protect you? I'm sorry? I can't? I care?_

Pushing easily away from the bed, she decides she doesn't have the energy to figure it out. 

 

"I'm so sorry," she hears him murmur to Echo when she's almost to the landing. 

 

"You shouldn't be. I'm not. It's not me you love." 

 

She freezes, an absolutely silent scream frozen on her lips. Raven lurches forward, wraps an arm around her waist, and together, they hobble down the stairs. 

 

***

 

"You didn't fucking tell us there were other survivors?" Murphy slams his fist into the table an hour later. "We had to see them for ourselves?!" 

 

Emori and Harper exchange a look of distress then glance from the brunette whose hair is standing up from how many times he's run his hair through it to Clarke, whose face is cradled in her palms. 

 

"I was going to tell you," she says, muffled. 

 

Madi flips Murphy off and goes to cuddle Clarke. The juvenile gesture makes Monty smile despite the circumstances. The young girl knows something is deeply wrong in the house, that somehow the pain stretches back in time before one green valley was all that was left of civilization. 

 

"When?" Monty demands. "When were you going to tell us? When they were pounding down the door ready to kill us?"

 

Madi opens her mouth with a frown, but Clarke's already shushing her and pushing her toward the door. "Go bring in the extra firewood around back," she widens her eyes meaningfully. 

 

"But Clarke--"

 

"No whining! Do as I say. I've got it under control, babe." 

 

Madi rolls her eyes and stomps loudly every step of the way out the door. 

 

"Cute kid," Murphy mutters. "Excellent manners. Really impeccable parenting skills." 

 

"Don't be a dick," Harper chastises. 

 

But Clarke's too drained to deal with his attitude.  

 

She sighs, the lines etching into the porcelain skin around her mouth. "It's not like that, Monty. They're going to help us dig out the bunker." 

 

"And why would they do that?" he raises a skeptical, dark eyebrow. "Unleash an army of warriors under the ground to fight them for the last remaining land on Earth? That sounds like a great plan." 

 

"Woah, woah, woah, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves?" Raven cuts in, sliding into the chair beside Emori, whose calculating eyes are trained on Clarke alone. "Who the hell are these people and how are they even here?"

 

Clarke's shoulders slump. 

 

"They're the Eligius mining company. Prisoners, really. Sent to space about 100 years ago to mine an asteroid colony. They were cryogenically preserved - that's how they survived."

 

"You've got to be kidding me," Emori murmurs. 

 

Murphy's fingers dig deeper into her side and she curls into him. 

 

"The Earth always has new monsters," Harper says, barely audible. 

 

"Except we're the grounders now," Murphy supplies shrewdly, narrowing his eyes. "You said they'd help us?" 

 

Clarke nods. 

 

He grins, all pointed teeth. 

 

"Yeah, right, Princess. For what? What the hell do they want from us? First it was our bodies, then it was our blood. Then it was our minds. There's no free lunch." 

 

She huffs quietly through her nose, shakes her head and turns away. 

 

"Nothing violent," she replies softly. "Nothing we can't give." 

 

Raven blinks rapidly, turning her head up and to the left in alarm, exposing her neck.

 

"Clarke, I know you've been down here with just Madi for a long time. But you can't really trust they'll help us if they're prisoners--"

 

"We were prisoners, too!" Clarke suddenly erupts loudly, waving her arm around at Monty, Harper, and Murphy. An eerie pallor coats her face. "If we want to free the bunker, we'll do what they ask. We meet Charmaine, that's their leader, at dawn the day after tomorrow in the heart of the valley. It's the only choice." 

 

With that, she walks briskly off into the night, leaving a tense confusion in her wake. Her stomach roils even as she sucks in the sweet pine in the air. Tears spring to her eyes when she considers Raven. But maybe, maybe if she's lucky, she can save the others. It's impossible at this point to save herself. 

 


	9. I Sent You to the Sky (I Prayed You'd Find the Ground)

Raven stares down at the tiny, amber mosquitoes buzzing over the shallow, muddy pool in a single-minded fixation. 

 

"You a big bug watcher now, Reyes?" 

 

The voice is more playful than anything else, and she smiles despite herself when Murphy knocks into her shoulder. 

 

"Excuse me for taking some time to appreciate other forms of life after seeing only your sorry mug for the past six years." 

 

She arches her eyebrow and places a hand on her hip, staring him down. 

 

"Come on ... it wasn't all bad," he smirks. "You caught me coming out of the shower that one time." 

 

She punches his arm, and he winces, but they're both still kind of laughing. It's been a long road, but she's glad they're friends now. If nothing else, it turns out Murphy is pretty loyal when push comes to shove.  

 

It's still early, well before noon by the sun's position in the sky, but she sees a sheen of sweat already glistening in the hollow of his throat. 

 

"You come to take me to the gates of Hell?" 

 

She leans her back against the harsh bark of the towering Douglas Fir, bracing her legs on either side of its upturned, curvy root. 

 

He snorts. 

 

"Who knows? Maybe they'll be nice." 

 

"Right." She rolls her eyes. "Clarke's scared shitless, and that's saying something." 

 

"They won't drill us for bone marrow." 

 

He leans down and picks up a few crunchy, dead leaves in his palm, smashing the organic matter between his fingers in a satisfying crinkling noise. Raven watches the fragments flutter haphazardly before reaching the dirt. 

 

"Been there, done that," she rests her heavy head back against the tree. 

 

He's gazing at her hand rubbing her hip, a twist reaching his lips. 

 

"I'm not going to let them hurt you, Raven." 

 

She narrows her almond-shaped eyes at him. 

 

"Likewise, asshat. If they come for a hair on your greasy head, I'll end them." 

 

"But in a non-criminal way, right? I don't want you to go acting like a delinquent after all these years, Reyes." 

 

She grins at that, allowing him to tug her forward toward the overgrown path that will lead them home. 

 

***

 

"We need to talk." 

 

Clarke's arm is jutting out at a weird angle as she tries to yank her blue Henley down over her stomach hastily. 

 

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" she hisses, whirling around to the owner of the too-deep voice. 

 

"You can't avoid me forever." 

 

"I can give it my best shot." 

 

"Clarke." 

 

"What?" she spits out, trying to speak smoothly although her heart's thudding in her ears now. At least she already had her pants on. 

 

"What aren't you telling me about these people?" 

 

He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. It's suddenly too warm. Having grown up on a tin car floating through space, you wouldn't think she would feel claustrophobic ever, but-- 

 

She shakes her head abruptly. 

 

"Seriously, Bellamy? That's what you want to say to me right now?" 

 

His eyes flash darkly. 

 

"Yeah." He crosses his arms over his chest and swallows hard. "You're leading us to the middle of a valley, defenseless, to meet with people I know next to nothing about who are supposed to help us free the bunker." 

 

He takes another step forward, but she stands her ground. 

 

"But nobody does something for nothing on Earth, Clarke," he rumbles. "So tell me what. They. Want." 

 

The tenseness of the situation washes over her in waves. She knows Echo's just in the next cabin with Monty, sorting through their ammunition. A glossy curl bounces off Bellamy's forehead when he tilts his chin down to stare right into her eyes. She hates that she's barefoot while he's in his boots. It makes the height difference between them more pronounced. 

 

"We're not defenseless, you know that." 

 

She squares her shoulders and tries to not let the shake in her stomach reach her legs. 

 

He scoffs. 

 

"A few guns aren't going to hold off any army, so if you think that--"

 

A softly sizzling rage claws its way up her throat. 

 

"If I think that?" she hisses uncharacteristically, velvet and dangerous. "I've been on this goddamn destructed planet alone for SIX years, Bellamy!  _I think_ I've got a pretty good game plan figured out for how we're going to survive! I've talked to these people already, all right? I know what they want." 

 

He looks murderous, the muscle working in his jaw overtime. 

 

"And you're not going to tell me?" 

 

It's silent for several beats. 

 

"No," she says dismissively at last, glancing out the window toward the tangled woods spotted with sunlight on the lime green leaves. She hopes he can't see the tears glistening at the edges of her irises. 

 

His eyes fall closed. She watches his shoulders slump with a more profound heaviness than she can remember. But there are steel walls settling around the soft, beating tissue in her chest.  

 

"I know you don't trust me anymore." He whispers the heavy words to his boots. "But you're still my people, Clarke. I would still do anything to keep you safe." 

 

He hits her with those goddamn eyes of his. They're the eyes from the gates outside Arkadia. He's still begging her - even after all these years. 

 

She draws the humid air into her lungs. Somehow his hand is wrapped very lightly around her forearm, and his thumb is stroking the creamy white underside of her skin. 

 

"You're wrong," she grits out, and he stills his motion. "I still trust you. That's what hurts the most." 

 

He cocks his head to the side, blinking furiously. He's too warm, like always, body heat rolling off him and into her bones. 

 

"Clarke, please," he rasps. 

 

The moment his thumb and forefinger curl around her wrist like a bracelet, she's jerking out of his grip. 

 

"Trust that I'm doing what's best for our people," she says more crisply, moving toward the door. "I do it every day." 

 

***

 

Bellamy's eyes dart over the small band of space travelers standing before them in the spot where the land sinks lowest. He's standing in front of all of them, positioned with Raven closest to his left shoulder. He can sense more than see Harper tighten her grip at the gun on her hip when she notices a burly man with a grey goatee start wrapping a thick chain around his wrist. 

 

In a flash, the silver metal slices into the cracked dirt near the strange man, and Bellamy realizes he's struck a lizard. The stunned beast gives a few feeble shakes of its limbs where it's fallen belly-up before the guy hits it once more for good measure. Its head flies off in a flourish, a spurt of crimson blood flecking the air. Murphy mutters something unintelligible from somewhere to his right. 

 

The woman who appears to be their leader is brunette, with a strong jaw and bronze body armor. The band of time frozen prisoners stand behind her, flanking her. Most seem rough and weather-beaten, with long beards and sizable biceps. The lone female rolls her eyes and levels the lizard killer with an exasperated glance. 

 

"Enough theatrics. The Sky People won't be so easily intimidated anyway." 

 

Her grin is sharp and cold. 

 

"Have you decided, Clarke? Are we helping you free the bunker?" 

 

Suddenly, a blur of blonde moves past his elbow before he can grasp for the back of her thin top. 

 

Emori presses closer to him from he's not sure where. 

 

"This isn't good. Feels like a trap." 

 

He bites down on his lip, fingers itching on his own gun strapped across his body. 

 

"Don't move," Echo's husky tone floats to him before his foot even starts to inch forward. "She'll see it as weakness." 

 

"Charmaine," Clarke nods at the woman once she's standing within a few feet of her. 

 

"Wanheda." 

 

Her teeth glint in a half snarl. "Ready to join our ranks?" 

 

Murphy's beside him in a second. 

 

"What?" he growls lowly. "If you think I survived Jaha's sea monster and getting my nails ripped off by Anya's psychos to surrender to this bitch then--"

 

"Shut  _up_ , Murphy," he growls, brain spinning furiously. 

 

But it's Monty who asks the question. 

 

"How do they know about that name?" 

 

He glances over at Raven, who's staring right back at him, eyes wide with fear. He seems to arrive at the conclusion a few moments after she does. 

 

"They intercepted Clarke's messages," she breathes. 

 

Bellamy groans internally, but his attention is pulled back to Clarke almost immediately at the sound of her clear voice. 

 

"We are," she nods once then turns and gestures back at them. "That's Monty on the far right, and next to him is Harper, and--"

 

"There will be time for introductions later," Charmaine waves her hand dismissively. She's speaking louder now, as if intent on them all hearing her. "All that matters for now is how your people pair up with ours." 

 

"Pair up?" Harper whispers. 

 

Clarke shifts her weight to her right foot, tapping her fingers against her thigh. His neck is so tight, the dull ache of a migraine is setting in above his right eye. 

 

"Is that really necessary?" he hears Clarke ask. "We've already promised to help you set up a camp here, find food, prepare for winter. We've done it before. We know how to survive."

 

Charmaine clicks her tongue. 

 

"We've been through this. You know the terms." 

 

A younger man steps forward. He's got mocha-colored skin and a face that doesn't seem as bloodthirsty as his fellows. 

 

"Maybe we should meet them first before we decide to--"

 

"Get back in formation, Zeke!" she snaps shrilly. "You'll speak when you're spoken to." 

 

"Yes, ma'am." 

 

Zeke falls back in line, his yellow-brown boots kicking up dirt clouds. But his eyes are roaming from Monty to Raven and back again. They're clearly outnumbered, and Bellamy has the sinking suspicion this is just a small fraction of the entire Eligius crew. The ship they landed in was simply too large. 

 

Finally, he can't take it anymore. 

 

"Clarke!" he calls out, gruff and firm. She shoots him a look full of warning from over her narrow shoulder, shaking her chin almost infinitesimally from side to side. 

 

He ignores it, walking forward until he's standing by her side. 

 

"I'm Bellamy," he stares into Charmaine's brown eyes. "Bellamy Blake. What exactly is it that you want from us?" 

 

Charmaine's tongue darts out briefly, licking her bottom lip. 

 

"Bellamy Blake. I've heard," her gaze flicks back to Clarke, "a lot about you."  

 

Clarke's stomach clenches unpleasantly as she watches the woman size him up.  

 

"I can't say the same," he returns coldly. "Now tell me what you want." 

 

Clarke tries not to react when the side of his warm arm brushes against the bare skin of her own. 

 

Charmaine sighs as if this is all boring her then shakes her head at Clarke. 

 

"You didn't even tell your  _dearest_   _friends_  what my terms and conditions are? I thought you were so close," she fake pouts. 

 

"Listen, lady," he hears Raven's clipped tone at his back, "We've dealt with nothing but bullshit since we hit Earth the first time, so just get to it. What's the deal?" 

 

The burly man with the greasy hair starts beating his chain against the dirt with heavy thwacks. 

 

Charmaine's laugh is hollow. 

 

"The deal, darling, is that dear Wanheda wants our help - our mining tools specifically - to dig your people out from under the ground where they've been trapped for ..." she crinkles her eyebrows in fake confusion, "six years if I have that right. And, I know for a fact that there are warriors stuck in that bunker, different clans full of rage for being locked away beneath the ground and forced to coexist. But--"

 

"It comes at a price," Bellamy finishes for her. 

 

"Smart  _and_  attractive - isn't that charming?" Charmaine's gaze sweeps over his body, and he feels Clarke's arm muscle jump beside him. 

 

"What. Do. You. Want?" Echo snarls from the background. 

 

"It's very simple. I want your loyalty. If I'm going to free your people and the warriors locked away with them, I must  _guarantee_  they won't annihilate us to keep this little patch of green." 

 

"We don't want to kill you," Clarke says it like it's not the first time. 

 

"I can't guarantee that," Charmaine snaps, turning her full attention on the blonde. "So if you agree to take our help, you agree to come live with us and," she shrugs casually, "contribute to our gene pool. We could use some diversity at this point anyway." 

 

He didn't realize his hand was gripping Clarke's hip until he bursts forward. 

 

"WHAT?!" he nearly bellows, rounding on Clarke. "You agreed to that? Are you insane?" 

 

She clenches her teeth, not meeting his eyes. 

 

"There isn't another choice." 

 

"There's always another choice," Raven breaks in, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She looks meaningfully between Clarke and Monty, widening her eyes. "We talked about this." 

 

Clarke simply looks sad. 

 

"They'll come after us, Ray," she says miserably. "They've got weapons we could only dream about." 

 

"She's right," Charmaine smiles tartly. "Let's just make this easy. It's an unexpected thing - two groups of people needing the last patch of land on planet. I sure as hell didn't expect the Earth to have gone through two nuclear apocalypses while we were gone, but life's a bitch. You adjust. But this doesn't have to end in bloodshed."  

 

Clarke swallows audibly and nods. 

 

"You adjust," she agrees. 

 

Bellamy's head is reeling. This is madness. They were going to be forced to ... what? Marry? Breed with? these people? 

 

"Excellent," Charmaine sings out. "Well Clarke, you can take your pick from the men behind me. The rest are in cryosleep for the foreseeable future." She gestures toward the tight band of Sky Crew. "And then we'll pair up your friends." 

 

Clarke's eyes snap up in horror. 

 

"Wait." Murphy nudges him hard in the ribs with the pointiest part of his elbow. "You're not gonna just let this shit happen, are you? Do something, Bellamy! I'm with Emori. I  _love_  Emori." 

 

As if on cue, the dark-haired young woman arrives at Murphy's side, wrapping her arms around his waist. He kisses the top of her head. 

 

"It's gonna be all right," he whispers to her. "We're not letting these assholes tell us anything." 

 

A rolling nausea crosses Clarke's cheekbones. 

 

Her eyes lock on Raven's. "Take care of Madi for me." 

 

Raven's eyes widen, but before she can reply--

 

"What about the couples?" Clarke says swiftly, turning back to Charmaine. "Murphy and Emori and Monty and Harper have been together for years. They're in love. Can't you just ... take me?" she asks quietly. "We already talked about this. I'll be with whichever of your men you want. You can even pick. Just leave my friends out of it. They didn't agree to this. I did. My mother's in the bunker. She was the Chancellor. She'll do anything you want to make sure I'm ok. Take me," she repeats, quiet but still strong. "I'll be enough." 

 

Charmaine tilts her head to the side, considering. 

 

"No," Raven says swiftly. "No, no, no, no! You're  _not_  doing this, Clarke!" 

 

"This is sick, Clarke," Emori murmurs, trying to reach out to her, but Clarke pulls away. 

 

Bellamy feels like he's entered an alternate reality. The men behind Charmaine remind him of reapers - thuggish, with lumpy muscles and stained teeth. 

 

"We're restarting the human race," Charmaine cuts in swiftly. "It's not going to be a bed of roses. But it has to be done." 

 

"So much for sexual freedom," Murphy mutters, but Raven knocks her elbow into the center of his stomach, silencing him with a groan. 

 

"All right, Wanheda. I told you we'd help get your people out of that bunker with our equipment if you picked out a mate from  _my_  people _._ You're right - I won't change my original terms," Charmaine says at last. "You're friends don't have to be part of it. You're enough. So join us or die." 

 

There are men polishing rifles behind the military leader. Two are leaning over something that resembles a type of homemade bomb.  

 

"No." 

 

Clarke blanches, going visibly paler. 

 

"Bellamy, don't." 

 

"No," he widens his eyes until they're rivers of barely contained emotion. "I won't let you." 

 

"You don't get a say in this." 

 

"Like Hell I don't. You belong to me, Clarke. And I've belonged to you for a very long time." 

 

Charmaine rubs her hand over her face, exasperated. "I'll kill you all and won't think twice about it." 

 

"No need," Bellamy returns. "Just let me be with Clarke. We'll live with your people. We'll make sure ours don't attack yours. Our people listen to us. And it's true what Clarke said about her mother - she'll do anything to keep Clarke safe. Just please," he hates the weakness in his voice. "Don't take her away from me. I can't do it again." 

 

Clarke meets his eyes briefly, and he's startled to see that they're soft. 

 

Charmaine snickers. 

 

"Wanheda, do you love Bellamy?" 

 

Clarke tears her gaze away from the plea in Bellamy's eyes, and runs a nervous hand through her short, choppy waves. 

 

"You already know everything there is to know." 

 

"Mmm." Charmaine shifts her attention to the bronze-toned man just a foot away from the blonde. "You love her, Blake? Enough to put everyone's lives at risk?" 

 

Clarke meets his eyes, and with a twist to his intestines, he knows she's urging him to let her go. But he'll be damned before he makes that mistake again. 

 

"I love her." 

 

There's a strange stillness as his friends all look away, toward the mountains or the curving river flowing several hundred yards to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he  watches Echo twist the toe of her boot into the mossy patch of grass at her feet. 

 

"Fine," Charmaine snaps. "Convince me." 

 

"What?" Clarke hears the sharpness in Bellamy's tone. 

 

"Did I stutter?" Charmaine sizes him up.

 

Harper's intake of breath is audible behind them, and Clarke catches Monty wring out his wrists nervously.

 

Her heart is humming so fast it might as well be a hummingbird when she turns to face him fully. He's chewing on his full bottom lip, one hand clenched in a fist next to the dark fabric of his jeans. Everything stills and shifts, like a broken kaleidoscope, the edges of her world just a blur of colors and shapes when he starts walking toward her. 

 

"You gonna be brave, Princess?" he murmurs quietly. Maybe only she can hear it; she's closer still now. It makes something hot shoot off in her stomach like a firework. 

 

She gives him the barest nod. She should have known it would end like this - Bellamy unable and unwilling to let her walk this dark road alone. Not like last time. 

 

His hand pulls her in by the waist. He smells like musky sweat and the hint of spice, and she's quickly drowning in it. The last thing she takes in is the kindness in his eyes and the splash of freckles over the bridge of his nose. She's still trying to relax even at the very last moment before their lips meet. 

 

Then it's just the pillow pressure of his mouth on hers, a burst of sweetness when their tongues discover each other naturally, her hand latched in his curls. Murphy wolf whistles. 

 

They break apart, mouths swollen. It was longer than in had to be. 

 

But for an act, Clarke hates herself for thinking it felt real. 


	10. Lie to Me a Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Almost Show Day! So sorry I've been woefully behind on all the story updates. But I do plan to work on my three unfinished stories diligently and then give you all a grounder king Bellamy / sky person Clarke arranged marriage story because ... it sounds fun? 
> 
> I hope all your The 100 S5 dreams come true! Thanks for reading!

Somewhere off to the East, an eagle caws. The dust dances lazily through the air, blurring her vision and stinging her eyes. Bellamy's fingers remain latched into the jutting curve of her hip bone. His lips are parted, and his brown eyes bore into hers, asking questions. 

 

There's no time to answer. 

 

The electric blue dart whizzes through the air intent on its target, the fleshiest part of her upper arm. It burns so much she hears her own cry, hears Raven's yelp, the crash of Monty's boots as he moves forward. Her own eyes drift shut as her body collapses to the Earth. There's a strong arm pressing into the base of her spine, another scooping up her dead weight from right behind her knees. 

 

" _Clarke_." 

 

There's only Bellamy's choked gasp before the shapes of the mountains swirl into nothingness. 

 

***

 

When she wakes, she finds herself in a surprisingly comfortable bed. Fluffy pillows surround her head, and her body feels warm and heavy. It's difficult to lift her pale fingers up in the strange, neon yellow glow of the rectangular lights lining the walls. Wincing, she rolls over onto her side. 

 

"Ah," she gasps, her sore arm pressing too hard into the mattress. 

 

"Clarke. Are you ok?" 

 

It's only then she registers the hot weight on her upper thigh, searing through the blankets. The hand is too tan, the veins through the wrist too well-defined.  

 

"Get away," she grunts, pushing herself back toward the wall. 

 

Her head's spinning, and her mouth is full of a dry cotton flavor. There are several, prolonged moments of silence before the splintered --

 

" _Please_." 

 

It would be just her luck Eligius would let one person into this room they've locked her in and that it would be Bellamy. She shakes her head the smallest amount, imagining he strong-armed his way in like the big hero he thinks he is. 

 

"I've been alone for six years. I don't need you now."

 

Somehow, she feels him stiffen where his weight makes the bed droop somewhere in the vicinity of her hips. There's a quick, sharp intake of breath. She's resting beneath a thin blanket of his crisp, pine scent and ignores this by counting the rivets along the titanium walls. 

 

"I know you don't need me, Clarke. But ... " 

 

She knows his hand has found his sticky curls without flipping over. 

 

"But what?" she snaps impatiently. "Why couldn't you just let me do this? I was trying to keep you all safe." 

 

"You know why." 

 

Every single hair on the back of her neck stands up as his lips hover just above her pulse point. 

 

She shakes her head repeatedly, a few salty tears slipping down the bridge of her nose and into the too-bright sheets. 

 

"No." 

 

She starts to tremble, and for the first time, Bellamy is truly scared. 

 

"Yes," he rubs a gentle pattern over the cloth enveloping her side. "We're in this together. You know that." 

 

"You've got a strange fucking definition of together," she manages. 

 

The blade cuts him cleanly down his chest. 

 

"I thought you were dead," he grits out, his grasp on her hip tightening almost painfully. "I nearly lost my mind in space without you." 

 

He notices the slightest relaxation of her shoulder blades as she flips over toward him unexpectedly. 

 

"That's  _not_  what I meant." 

 

Her eyes narrow and harden as they watch him; it's an expression she hasn't worn in ... he can't remember how long. 

 

Risking it, he figures, is more than worth it at this point. What else is there to lose? 

 

Very slowly, he slides the pads of his fingers from her hip to the crook of her elbow, then down to the delicate bones of her left wrist. She jolts a little but keeps her hand steady, eyes locked on his movements. 

 

"Tell me what you mean. I want to know everything you mean," he says, barely recognizing the desperation coloring his tone. 

 

Clarke squints her eyes shut, the tried-and-true crease offsetting her brow. It's so quiet in here - not even the dull hum of an engine to alleviate the oppressive silence that knots itself like a noose around his neck. He can't pinpoint the exact moment when she lets her guard down, makes her decision. But he feels a renewal of energy pump through his veins all the same the instant she starts speaking. 

 

"You ... you let me say all those things to you. You  _held_  me. And you knew. You knew about her and the baby." 

 

The lump expands in his throat, and his own eyes begin to fill with salty liquid. 

 

"I-I'm sorry for your loss." 

 

It comes out a tiny bit sharp around the edges but sincere all the same. 

 

Bellamy sighs heavily, avoiding her eyes which trace the lines of his beard now and focusing on the locked gray door instead. 

 

"Thank you."

 

His hand spasms when he feels her delicate fingers flow into the gaps between his thicker, knottier ones. 

 

"Clarke, I fucked everything up - it's all my fault," he whispers. "Hate me if you need to, but I'm not going anywhere." 

 

When her glassy eyes find his in the strange glow of the room, she sees no wavering there. 

 

 "Just tell me why." 

 

His warm breath rushes over her face when he allows himself the deep exhale. 

 

"I only found out about ... the pregnancy a few days before you did. She told me when we were about to take off. She thought she'd miscarry on the flight down. It happened three times. Twice in the first year, the first time I was too drunk on Jaha's moonshine to remember much. I wanted to go numb. She helped me go numb. I don't know what else to say but I'm sorry." 

 

Clarke bites her lip hard and sits up against the pillow wall at her back. 

 

"What about the last time? Tell me about that." It's a complicated challenge, and he knows he might fall off the rickety bridge she's agreeing for whatever reason to start building between them. 

 

"Raven said we would give the launch one last try in a few weeks," he mumbles. "She said we had a 45 percent shot of making it back safely to this little patch of green we kept seeing." 

 

He throws her a wry smile, and despite herself, she senses the uptick of her lip, even those it's miniscule. 

 

"It's not like I'm proud of it, Princess. I came to ... respect her, mostly, but I think we both knew it wasn't the real thing. It was never anything deep or, you know, that special. Just two people stuck in limbo, passing the time."

 

He winces when the flicker of pain passes over her face, quick as a sandstorm.  

 

"Still," Clarke's voice is full of cracking sadness. "It was your ... child. It's a big loss." 

 

Bellamy seems to weigh this out deliberately for many long moments. Finally--

 

"You were the biggest loss of my life, Clarke. I'll never forgive myself for leaving you behind." 

 

The press of her nails digs right into his skin, cutting him, raw and painfully. Fresh tears slip down her cheeks at his words, and she starts to shudder unexpectedly. 

 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he's nervous, frantic, hands blurring in an attempt to pat her back, soothe her trembling frame. "Do you want me to go? I'll go." 

 

He's distraught, staring down at her, but when she makes no move to stop him, he makes for the only exit, not even sure it'll open to him.  

 

His hand latches around the cold, heavy handle just as her raspy voice presses into his ears. 

 

"Bellamy. Don't." 

 

He stiffens and turns back to her. 

 

"Don't?" 

 

"Don't leave me again" she manages before reaching out an unsteady hand to him. 


	11. I Would Have Stayed Up With You All Night

 

 

The room is cooler than it should be when thick, sunset heat presses against the walls of the ship from outside. He watches Clarke shiver, a ripple rolling up her back, which causes her shoulder to wiggle. Her hand stays suspended in the air - outreached toward him - for a moment before it collapses back to the blankets. 

 

_"Clarke._ " 

He strides across the room to her side in a moment, standing unsure by the edge of her bed. His tongue feels thick and heavy and dry in his mouth. Her face is tear-stained, but her eyes watch him with more relief than they should. Than he deserves. 

 

Clarke shakes her head, biting her lip. 

 

"I'm so angry at you," she says at last. "I want to ... ugh! I don't even know," she hits her fist into the unyielding titanium wall and grimaces. 

 

"Hey!" Bellamy says roughly, capturing her wrist in his fingers before she can slam it again. "Stop hurting yourself." 

 

He lays her wrist delicately back along the curve of her hip. She blinks at him, moving her legs out of the way so he can sit down even as she whispers, "I don't want to hurt you instead." 

 

Bellamy sinks into the mattress, back leaning against the wall as Clarke curls like a cat away from him. The mattress groans under their combined weight. Her blue eyes track over his face as he slips it into his palms, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes with a long groan. He sees moons, stars, galaxies before he finds any words. 

 

"God, Clarke, I'm so sorry," he murmurs brokenly when he exposes his face to her at last. "For ... everything." 

 

The tears are swirling in his coffee-colored eyes, and it breaks her, though she's furious to be broken. 

 

"You don't get to cry!" she sits up, grips his pleasantly warm, freckled forearm, feeling the hard muscle beneath. "I didn't ask you to sacrifice yourself for me! You could be safe on the other side of that door, Bellamy!" 

 

"Clarke ... " he tilts his head to the side, gazing at her like he's never seen her properly before. "Do you really think that?" He reaches up and takes her hand in his own, cautiously slotting his fingers between hers. "Do you really think I would leave you ...  _again_?" His voice breaks on the last word. 

 

She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't grip his fingers back, either. 

 

"Clarke?" he asks again when her silence feels like it's choking him. 

 

"No," she whispers. The flat of her palm embracing the scruff of his jawline jolts him. But she rubs it so delicately, eyes glistening as they lock onto his. "But I want to be mad at you because it's the only thing that's going to help me let you go." 

 

He's stricken at that. His pulse beats fast enough to dance in the tips of his fingers, in the pit of his stomach, in the very center of his breastbone. Thick, crimson blood choking his veins with guilt. 

 

"No!" He actually is crying now. The wetness slides down his cheeks and causes her own tears to spill over. 

 

His hands find her waist through the thin, black tank top she was wearing beneath the thicker, long-sleeved one Charmaine stripped her of before locking them away. He's not quite sure what he's doing, just knows he wants to hold her as she trembles, if she'll let him. She hiccups once into his neck before sliding her arms around his back and squeezing hard. 

 

"If there's any part of you that still wants me, please don't let go." His breath coasts along the shell of her ear while he rocks her gently. "I'm here. I'd do anything for you, Princess. Tell me you know that." 

 

The scent of sweet vanilla and berries hits his nose as he breathes her in. She's still crying into his skin, but there's the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod. He strokes one hand along the dip in her top, marveling at how her skin can still feel so soft after surviving for years with just Madi in the valley. When Clarke pulls back, she's pressing her lips together, head cocked to the side. 

 

"I do know. And it makes it hurt worse." 

 

Somehow, closing his eyes in the rocket as the burning Earth receded and the stars took flight around him hurt less than this. Leaving her behind didn't feel like a machete to his chest. 

 

"Please stop crying." He tucks her short hair behind her ear, marveling at the red strands, and lays a heavy hand on her hip where she sits in his lap. "I was yours a long time ago, Clarke. When you gave me forgiveness at that tree. I know we can fix this. Have some faith." 

 

She swipes at her eyes before sliding away, holding up her hand. "Don't do that to me," she begs it in a hiss between clenched teeth. The instant coldness from the absence of her body hits him in full force. "The faith that I had that you were alive, surviving, kept me sane down here before I found Madi and even after." She says it while curling her knees to her chest and tucking her chin upon them. "And now here you are, six years older, with a beard, and you say you're the same, but you ... 

 

"What? I what?" 

 

"... remind me of Finn. I thought you were better than that. You used .... you used to be better than that. Now you're acting like you didn't even want the kid, your kid, and I ... I ..." She feels the hysterics coming on even as she tries to swallow them. 

 

It takes a moment to register her meaning, to think that far back. But when he does, a wave of fiery heat tears through his frame. 

 

"Finn knew Raven was alive, Clarke! I thought you were DEAD! I wanted to die, too!" The force of his statement sends her leaning back into the pillows. "I feel like shit about Echo, is that what you want me to say?" 

 

He's on his feet suddenly before her, reaching out to take her delicate, pointed chin in his hand. His grip isn't tight, but he forces her eyes to meet his. "I'm sick about the kid, all right? I spent my whole goddamn life trying to raise Octavia to be good, and I haven't been able to talk to her for six fucking years, Clarke! My only family! And then Echo wants ...  _something good_  with me, and I swear to God I wanted to want it. I did!" He lets his hand fall. "But every time I closed my eyes at night ... " 

 

Her breath catches when his other palm curls tentatively around the pulse of her neck before soothing the spot where the dart pierced her flesh. "All I saw was you." 

 

She watches him run the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip for a moment too long. Because the next thing she knows, he's falling to his knees before her, arms on either side of thighs where she sits half-dangling off the bed, begging her to tell him how to make it right. 

 

"I don't know," she whispers into the stillness. One errant dark curl of his won't lie right, and she reaches out to coil it around her finger instead. He hitches his breath. She pretends she didn't hear. "Because you didn't do anything wrong, but in my mind ... " 

 

"Just tell me, Clarke." 

 

She sighs. 

 

"In my mind it's like I waited for a man who will never come home to me. Not the way he left me at least." 

 

Shards of glass collapse on his heart like the buildings tumbling onto the top of the bunker door. "Clarke .. _." God, when did saying her name become such an effort?_  "Even if... even if you don't want me," he can't help it, he slides his hand up the curve of her waist because she's  _real_  and  _solid_  and  _right in front of him_. "We always made the decisions together, you and I. And we need to free our people now. I can't handle Charmaine alone. I don't want to. Say that you're with me, please." 

 

Her smile is so sad when she bestows it that he's certain he forgets how to breathe. 

 

"I never said I didn't want you." 

 

Too swiftly for someone to move who's been recently tranquilized, Clarke digs her bony knees into Bellamy's ribs and tugs under his arms until he's half-crouched over her, suspended, hesitating. 

 

"What do you want from me?" he asks while her gaze glides over his freckles, the cleft in his chin. 

 

"Could you just hold me?" She blushes at the mere question, sighing in her exhaustion. "I'm so tired, and I don't want to fight with you. We can figure out what to do tomorrow." 

 

His smile is barely there and doubtful, but he dutifully climbs behind her onto the bed and stretches out on his side over the blankets. Clarke doesn't look backwards, just scurries under the fabric's softness and scoots back until her back presses against the broad expanse of his chest, so she can follow its rise and fall. Looping his arm into a tight band across her stomach, she turns her head to the right and presses her dry lips to the inner crook of his elbow. Something hot pulses through his gut. 

 

"You're not forgiven, not yet." 

 

The shake of her head sends blonde hairs tickling the space just under his nose. 

 

"But I'm tired of acting like you're not important to me." Not looking at him makes it easier. "You're my person, Bellamy. No matter what. I said together, and I meant it." 

 

He's oddly touched by her clinical loyalty because it's just so  _Clarke_. So he takes the gamble, leans in and allows his lips to glide over the expanse of creamy, milk-white skin stretched over her shoulder. Clarke shivers but doesn't try to squirm away. 

 

"Thanks, Princess," he offers before leaving a kiss at the side of her throat. "I meant it, too. Now sleep. Tomorrow's bound to have new problems." 

 

Clarke burrows into the downy fluff with more vigor. 

 

"But we'll handle them?"

 

"Whenever you're ready," he sighs. And she feels more secure and content than she has in six years as his breathing begins to synchronize with hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke is going to kill us slowly all season long, right? Probably. Til then, if you haven't read This is a Song About Somebody Else, you're truly not taking advantage of the best AO3 has to offer.


	12. I Missed Your Bare Hands

 

_"If I could fall into the sky_

_Do you think time would pass me by?_

_'Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles_

_If I could just see you, if I could just hold you tonight."_

_~Vanessa Carlton, "A Thousand Miles"_

_The Ark glimmers against a midnight black sky. It's a colossal insect, spinning with practiced ease. She's flying toward it, suspended and weightless. How can she breathe when there is no air? The image shifts. She's standing on the solid, gray titanium floor of a cavernous meeting space. It's been transformed for some type of party with twinkling lights. Everyone is wearing a mask, some with feathers, others bright orange and red with sequins that cover half their faces, coasting nearly down to their chins. Earth isn't far away. It's a beautiful, blue-green orb floating past the observation deck window, the swirl of a storm brewing somewhere off the coast of South America. Her hand presses against the glass, hard enough to leave a sweaty imprint behind. Home. That's the dream. One day she'll get there._

 

_A tap on her shoulder makes her turn. A tall, handsome guard points toward the ground, and she follows his gesture. She'd stepped over the caution line, gotten too close to the world beyond their tin can._

_"Back it up," he looks at her pointedly, but there might be a slight smile playing around his mouth._

_She grins back at him. She's had one glass of Jasper's moonshine on an empty stomach and isn't as worried about pushing her luck tonight._

_"Sorry Guardsman ... uh," she squints, looking for his name plate._

_"Cadet Blake." He offers a sweeping once-over of her white tulle skirt and plain, white tank top. She's even wearing glitter-covered, golden ballet flats and a goddamned diamond headband to complement her mask. "Nice to meet you, Princess."_

_He reaches out a hand to her, and she moves to shake it. He can tell he pissed her off with the nickname but finds he doesn't care. His hand is warm, a little rough, and swallows hers entirely. She's not expecting the electric jolt to race up her arm when their skin touches. She wonders if he feels it, too._

_"That's not my name," she insists._

_"But it suits you." His brown eyes focus on her face, the unconcealed parts, closely. He's too attractive, and it makes her uncomfortable. He's exactly the type of guy the girls in her year are always hoping to hook up with. "In a good way."_

_She glances up at him for as long as she dares, confused before_ _clearing her throat._

_"Ok, right. Thanks I guess. Uh--" she turns the tip of her sparkling shoe in the direction where she sees Jasper's goggles flash into focus. "I've got to get back to my friends, but," she smiles thinly. "Maybe I'll see you around."_

_Clarke pushes gently past him toward the crowd of swaying teenagers, feeling the body heat rising to meet her._

_"Wait one second," His hand wraps around the inside of her elbow, and he pulls her back around to face him._

_"Yeah?"_

_He takes a step closer to her, and her breath hitches. But he only readjusts her mask, so it fits better over her smoky blue eyes. His thumb coasts over her cheek for an extra second as it falls away. The shrug seems casual enough._

_"The trainees usually get Sunday nights off, and my friend Bryan is having his birthday this weekend. Farm Station, the old stock room by the moon viewing deck."_

_Clarke bites her lip, though she can't completely suppress the smile blooming from within her._

_"I know where that is."_

_"If you had time," he shrugs again. "Probably around 8."_

_"I don't think I have medical rounds that day for my internship, so maybe." It's the best she can do with not enough oxygen flowing to her brain._

_He just nods and begins scanning the crowd over her head. It seems like something else has caught his attention, and her stomach falls, as stupid as it is._

_"Hey! Don't you want my name?" she calls to his retreating back as it slips toward the dancing couples nearby._

_Cadet Blake grins at her, wide with gleaming teeth, over his shoulder. "I prefer Princess for now."_

 

_Several minutes later, blaring alarms sound from every corner of the packed room. Garish lights roll and flicker as everyone talks at once._

_"An x-class solar flare has begun on the starboard side of the Ark! All citizens must report to the nearest shelter zone immediately" the intercom sounds._

_"Ladies and gentlemen, this is not a drill," she hears the voice of Commander Shumway over the mild panic. "Masks off. I.D. chips out."_

_There's order for a few moments, but then a human sea begins to press against the route to the main door. She's too short to see over the tall guys' heads in front of her._

_"What's going on?" she jabs Jasper too hard in the ribs when she finds him._

_He cranes his neck. The room begins to quiet down at the sense of a rule infraction unfolding like a show before them._

_"Hey! It's that girl in the blue mask with the dark hair!" he squeaks to Monty._

_"That narrows it down," she hears Wells mutter as he materializes out of nowhere on her left. "You ok?" he asks her._

_"I'm fine," she smiles at him._

_She pushes her way toward the commotion as best as she can, feeling her friends at her back. They reach the front of the crowd just as she hears Shumway demanding to see a girl's I.D. The guard, well, the cadet she was just talking to looks stricken. He's begging Shumway to let them leave quietly._

_And then the girl runs._

_The image dissolves and is replaced by many others, flashing by in rapid succession._

_There's a burning blaze of fire licking the sides of the dropship, charring them, and her raw screams for him to run, now! Her mother's ghostly frame hanging from a thick rope in the Throne Room, feet twitching, because she could not start with his suffering first. Dax is on top of him, choking him with a gun, and she can't aim properly yet, doesn't know how to fight back, to stop it. Roan crouches menacingly over his body with a glinting sword, ready to strike, and she's begging like she's never begged before for his life. Always for his life. A brown hemp bag ripped off his head, and he's staring at her in awe and pain, across a field full of grounder warriors closing in ..._

_~~**~~_

Clarke rockets up out of sleep with a yelp, completely disoriented by her surroundings. A light sleeper after all the guard duty shifts he's worked, Bellamy rouses immediately, alarmed. 

 

There's something tight banded around her waist, holding her back, but she bursts through the barrier. Sweat pools down from her neck to the space between her breasts and gathers under her arms and along the inside of her thighs. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck. The strange room is lined with a dusky yellow haze along the floor and ceiling. It bothers her eyes immediately, makes her uneasy. But that's nothing compared to the moment when her hand lands on a muscular leg, a man's, and she's about to scream, when she hears his voice. 

 

"Clarke," Bellamy's palms land on either side of her waist with the heaviness of a moth. "You're ok. Just breathe. I got you." 

 

_This is the next phase of the dream. A very realistic dream. Because Bellamy's on the Ring with the others. They've been there for six years. They left her behind; there was no other choice. His hands feel so real though, so good._

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, forces herself to bring oxygen into her lungs while Bellamy presses the pads of his fingers into the spongey muscle on either side of her spine. 

 

"Madi?" she wonders aloud, trying to hastily bring her feet to the floor, but they're tangled up in blankets. 

 

"Woah, slow down, Clarke. Madi's fine. She's with Raven, Monty and the others back at the village, remember? We're on the Eligius ship; they took us because they need leverage when they help free the bunker." 

 

Very carefully, Bellamy turns her chin back to face him. His voice washing over her is a balm she feels like she doesn't deserve.  

 

"Bell-ah-mee," she whispers, and he finds himself wondering what the hell was in that dart. "You're real." 

 

She grips at the strength of his waist, and when her eyes meet his in the gloom, they catch on his freckles. And she remembers. It all comes crashing back into her skull like bits of rock re-entering the atmosphere. 

 

"Why?" she erupts suddenly, tears streaming down her face anew, slamming her palm into the mattress. 

 

Bellamy's heart clutches in his chest, and he's devastated all over again. How could he have done this to her?  _You didn't know she was alive_ , he reminds himself for what must be the hundredth time.  

 

"Clarke..." 

 

"Why does everything we touch turn to ash?" she exclaims with a roar like a wounded animal he's never heard come from her small body. "Why are we cursed? Why is this Hell? I can't TAKE it anymore! When does it end?!" 

 

She begins to violently shake. 

 

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey..." 

 

He does it without thinking, scoops her up under her knees and around her waist and draws her up into his lap, rocking her like a child until there's only the occasional hiccup against his shoulder. 

 

"Everything is going to be all right. We're going to get out of here in the morning, and as soon as we free the bunker and show Eligius that we don't have any intention of fighting to the death over this valley--"

 

"In my dream ... I remembered," She stops him with a hand right against the thump of his heart. 

 

"Huh?" Bellamy scratches his head, confused by the fierceness of her grip around his waist. "Remembered what?"

 

She draws back and stares at him, unblinking. 

 

"How we met. Why didn't you ever say anything?" 

 

"How we met," Bellamy repeats slowly. "Arguing about opening the dropship door?" 

 

"No," she shakes her head emphatically, praying it wasn't just a vivid dream. But she  _remembers_  it now, she does. Because the next day, Jake Griffin appeared on a broadcast viewed from every corner of the Ark that changed her life. It warned their people that they were running out of both air and time. Thus, the party had been the last time she saw her friends for almost a year as she was immediately whisked away to a trial on conspiracy and treason charges. 

 

Besides, Bellamy never gave her his first name, but she knows he said Blake. He wasn't wearing a costume, and sure, he was younger, a little thinner with differently styled hair. But of course it was still  _him._ Who else would be protecting a dark-haired teenage girl nobody had ever seen or heard of before? 

 

"On the Ark. At that party, the night they caught Octavia. I was pressing too close to the glass to look at the Earth. You stopped me, invited me to Bryan's birthday party. Tell me I'm not crazy." 

 

She's staring up at him so earnestly, and with some effort, he pushes his mind back, back six years, and then back another two to the painful night the Blake family secret erupted in plain sight. 

 

"The girl in the ballerina outfit," he says softly after a long pause. "It was  _you_. I'm sorry, you were wearing a mask, I didn't get your name." 

 

"And I didn't make it to the party - I was in solitary," she finishes the unspoken thought hanging between them. 

"Not like you stood me up," he says bitterly. "My mother was floated that week, Octavia got locked up, and I was demoted to janitor." 

 

Clarke shifts more comfortably in his lap, allowing her legs to sprawl out on either side of his waist. He leans into the palm she brings up to his cheek. 

 

"My dad got floated that week, too," she shares. "What are the odds?" 

 

They're quiet for a minute or two, lost in their own thoughts, until Bellamy breaks the silence. The sound of his steady breathing comforts her, and she leans her ear into his chest. The outline of his lips gloss over the top of her head, but it doesn't feel like more than that. 

 

"I called you Princess because of your clothes. I remember I never saw sparkles like that in Sector 7." 

 

"Some things are just meant to be I guess," she huffs quietly. 

 

"But wait ... why didn't you remember  _me_ when we landed then?" 

 

"I don't know," she answers honestly. "It was dark in there and kind of smoky. My life was turned upside down as soon as that solar flare hit. They gave me sedatives when they locked me up." 

 

Bellamy winces at that.

 

"Maybe they altered my short-term memory? "I don't want to say I forgot you because I remember now you made an impression on me, but I honestly can't say for sure." 

 

Bellamy laughs at that, and the sound warms her.  

 

"I'm sorry. I wish I had a better explanation." 

 

"It doesn't matter," he resumes rocking her. "We're here now. This is what we've got. I won't walk away from you again." 

 

Her own heart lurches in her chest. 

 

"Bellamy?" 

 

"Yeah, Princess?" 

 

She rolls her eyes at the name, as always. 

 

"It's still not my favorite." 

 

"But it's grown on you, right?" 

 

She purses her lips. 

 

"Maybe a little ... only when you say it though." 

 

"But that's not what you were about to ask." 

 

"Right. Uh, that night, at the moonrise party, you liked me right? I wasn't misreading that?" 

 

He pushes her back at the waist, so he can look straight into her eyes. 

 

"Definitely not a misread. I thought you were gorgeous. And... sassy I guess." 

 

"Sassy," Clarke repeats the word as if to see how it tastes in her mouth. 

 

"Something it turns out I had right. I remember you when we landed, Clarke. All those memories are crystal clear. ' _The only way the Ark is going to think I'm dead is if I'm dead, got it?'"_ He does a high-pitched impression of her voice. 

 

"That story only makes you look like the ass, not me," she argues. 

 

He hums in agreement. 

 

"I remember you, too," she replies softly. "Brave Princess." 

 

She curls a hand into his hair, and he's so happy about it he's afraid to move lest it break the spell. 

 

"I thought you were sexy that day," he admits, unsure why the blush is forming now across his cheekbones. 

 

"You saved me that day. You caught me, didn't let me fall." 

 

"I always want to save you," he says it reverently, like a prayer. "You're so important to me." 

 

He lets his elbows relax and shift him back against the pillows, taking her with him, her legs sprawling between his as they stretch out. She searches his face, her expression hard to fathom. Finally, she nods. 

 

"I know," she whispers. 

 

He swallows hard because this part still scares the shit out of him, even though he's already said it once, technically. But he's pretty sure it doesn't count if it's elicited under duress. He sees her eyes swimming with tears. 

 

"Clarke," his voice breaks, but her chin glides down and back up again, encouraging him, and he draws strength from that. "You've always been my Princess. I never stopped loving you. I wouldn't know how." 

 

She bites her lip, tears blurring her vision and doesn't say a word. Just brings her lips down very carefully to his. 

 


	13. When I Close My Eyes (It's You I See)

It's not the kiss Bellamy expected. But, then again, it's been a long time since he allowed himself to imagine what kissing Clarke Griffin might be like. Her lips are soft and hesitant and trembling like wisps of wind kicking up dried leaves. There's none of the fierce determination present as her mouth skims over his that he's come to associate so closely with her. This Clarke, this young woman who spent six years on a desolate Earth with only Madi for company, is more careful than she used to be. She pauses and reflects before reacting. She reads the moods of those around her perhaps a little better than she did before. Yet she also looks at him with a more open attachment in her gaze than he remembers even from their quiet moments in the rover. Even from when she wrote his name on that list of one hundred people to be saved in the darkest hour before dawn while their people slept around them. Even though he's done nothing to deserve such sweet adoration. 

But she still smells of fresh rain and sweet flowers, and her hair is still a golden halo around her too enchanting face. He should have told her every day how he felt about her from the moment he realized it. The moment she barreled into him after being locked up in the underground prison of Mount Weather and took his breath away. He knew when her arms tightened around his shoulders and she let out that happy little sigh into his neck that he was gone. Nobody would ever be the match for him, the counterbalance, that Clarke was. When she pulled away from him that day by the metal gates of Arkadia, there were stars in her eyes and a brief flash of recognition that she felt something stirring, too. They never talked about it. What would they have said? He's unsure why he spent months being scared of looking too closely. He could have been stronger and worn down her walls and insisted what they shared was too otherworldly to ever risk jeopardizing. Still, he's pretty sure she always knew that. Even when she pushed him away, she remained laser focused on his safety, on keeping him away from any threat of bodily harm the planet could fling his way. He doesn't know why he didn't see it then. See her and what she was offering him fully. She always gave everything she could manage in every way she could bear to part with it despite her insecurities. 

 

He knew what he needed to say that day on the beach with the steel gray water flowing by and the threat of a fiery inferno ready to scorch every square inch of ground they'd ever had the privilege to walk on. He tasted the words at the tip of his tongue but never truly dared to believe she could  _really_ want him as dangerously much as he wanted her. It was a given they needed each other - something they'd accepted years ago leaning against that rough tree bark, lost in the dark woods and in their own feelings of guilt and shame. But want came with splintered teeth and jagged edges. Want, like forgiveness, wasn't about what people deserved. It was its own energetic force they'd tried desperately to bottle. It'd been easier to slide his arms around other girls who smiled at him sweetly than come face to face with the ache that hollowed his chest every time Clarke Griffin squared her shoulders and chose to walk away from him, to shoulder her burdens alone when he'd promised her together. Every time he allowed himself to remember the day he flew away into the sky and left her behind, he felt sick to his stomach. 

He's terrified she'll pull back at any moment, even though his hands remain dormant at his sides. If he opens his mouth the tiniest fraction, if he reaches up to cup her satin cheek in his hand, she'll flee. He's sure of it. She'll explode like a bright, gorgeous nebula of dust, hydrogen and helium, floating away into the vast universe. So he closes his eyes and breathes her in and allows his own lips to whisper softness to her because it feels like that's all he has left to give. 

When Clarke does lean back, she remains close enough that he can feel her body heat. She lays a palm along the stretch of thigh over his knee, tips her head to the side and sends him a hesitant, crooked smile. 

"We did better when we had an audience." 

He doesn't realize any tears are gliding down from his lash line until Clarke's biting her full, pink bottom lip right in front of him and leaning forward so carefully to kiss the liquid off his face. 

"I'm so sorry," she breathes into his skin, and that's when his tentative hands find the hollows on either side of her waist while she drops her weary head into the crook of his shoulder and sighs. He watches her shoulders slump and very carefully runs the tips of his fingers up her spine, as if afraid he'll be burned by the contact. 

"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," he manages. 

She emits a small hiccup and burrows closer into him. "I'm sorry we were never what we should have been before," she clarifies. But, to be honest, the statement still confuses him a little. 

"Hey, that's not your fault," he tucks an arm around her waist and lets her fully collapse into him as he rests partly against the wall behind them and partly against a lumpy pillow. "I should've told you that day by the beach--"

"How?" she laughs bitterly into his thin shirt, and the heat of her breath sends a shiver through him. "I wouldn't let you. It terrified me, thinking about losing you, thinking that was the last time I'd ever see you. I couldn't deal with that." 

When her crystalized blue eyes meet his, they don't waver. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and allows himself a moment to appreciate how beautiful she is. 

"I could've tried harder. You needed to hear it. You didn't know, and I let you go six years thinking I didn't care, that I ..."

"Hey, stop it," Clarke interrupts his bumbling with fire in her tone. Hearing him say these things stabs at her heart in ways she couldn't possibly have anticipated, though it's been so many years since she promised him they'd see each other again. "You always showed me, Bellamy. Nobody was ever there for me like you were. 

And then her whole face goes soft and doe-eyed for a moment as she watches him.  

"Clarke--" he starts brokenly. 

She shakes her head. 

"You don't have to," she whispers. "I already know.”

Bellamy swallows noticeably, his mouth falling open a little when Clarke throws one leg lightly over both of his and settles more comfortably into his lap, cheek resting on the bone of his shoulder. 

"Clarke...Nothing makes sense without you." 

He holds her to him by the small of her back and the back of her head, rocking so slowly it's difficult to detect. But it sets her at ease, feeling his solidness, smelling the pine of him she finds more soothing than any other scent. 

"It was always there, wasn't it?" Clarke asks after many minutes. Her words are a bit muffled because she won't remove her lips from the fabric of his shirt collar. 

"Yeah," Bellamy returns, willing his heart back to a normal rhythm even as his fingers skim the bit of clear skin right above her jeans. "For some reason, the universe wants you stuck with me." 

Her chuckle is happy; the warm rumble of it makes him smile. Still, a flash of doubt collides with his brain. 

"You know I don't believe in fate though," his voice rekindles some of its gruffness. "It's a miracle that you survived, Clarke." He forces himself to continue even though the next words cost him a lot. "I just want you to be happy now. It doesn't have to be with me once we get the bunker open and negotiate with Diyoza. I know I kind of forced this, but ... please ... just ... whatever happens, live and be happy." 

Clarke places a kind hand on either side of his face, wrinkling her nose a little at the thick, black scruff that scratches her fingers. 

"Bellamy Blake, I radioed you every day for six years. Who is it exactly that you think I'd rather be with? You're my best friend. You were my partner for almost every day we were on the ground together. Who knows me better than you?" 

His eyes glisten, but he stays quiet. Clarke leans forward and kisses him with a firmer pressure, and he swears the muscles in his stomach jump. 

"There's nobody on Earth who wants you the way that I do." 

His arms banded together just above her ass are an unexpected but pleasant surprise. "So you're saying it's all about my body, huh?" Bellamy throws her a tentative smirk that makes her recall crisp apples and blazing bonfires, target practice in a long-forgotten, musty bunker and his hand wrapped around her arm. 

She raises her eyebrows and bats her eyelashes ever so briefly. "Your body's all right," she shrugs, pressing her fingers under the hem of his T-shirt and into the taut muscle she discovers beneath it. 

The low growl at the back of his throat makes the hair stand up on her arms. 

"There's only an hour or two before sunrise, Clarke," he warns, stretching forward to kiss her temple. "Get some rest before she's back." 

She bites her lip and climbs off of him, pulling back the blankets to rearrange herself on her back. He's about to make himself comfortable next to her in the darkness, when her voice rises up again. 

"Bellamy?" 

"Yeah?" 

There's the hint of a tremor when she continues. 

"If you're not on top of me in the next three seconds, I'm calling bullshit on all those dropship stories about you."  


	14. Together

She smiles at the bright sound of Bellamy's laughter. It's so pleasant after the heaviness of everything they've been through since he returned to the ground. 

 

"Who knows what you heard?" He quirks up a brow at her. "I can't confirm or deny anything." 

 

Clarke rolls onto her side and looks at the beginning of a teasing grin around his mouth. 

 

"All I know is there were a lot of girls filing in and out of your tent when we first landed." 

 

A little of the light fades from his eyes. He clears his throat. 

 

"There shouldn't have been. But I didn't have the guts to go after the one I really wanted." 

 

Clarke stares back at him, surprised. 

 

"I was a huge pain in your ass, Bellamy. You don't have to spin the story now to make me feel better or whatever. It's ok. We were what we were. I don't mind our history." 

 

His hand is heavy when it lands on the space just above her right knee. 

 

"Clarke." 

 

He props himself back up and leans over her, staring right into her face. She suddenly feels exposed. It's a little too close, regardless of how many times she sketched the cheekbones she now reaches her hand up easily to cradle. He presses into her palms, so she swipes a thumb over his freckle pattern and then dips a finger lower over that little scar by his lip. 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"It's not a story. I liked you. Don't tell me you didn't know." 

 

He can hear the soft, swiping sound her teeth make as they grate against her lip. She wants to be flippant almost. Remembers the night by the bonfire where she flirted with him in the best way she knew how about the drink they've still yet to share six years later. For a moment, the sounds of the partying delinquents rise around her, and she can smell woodsmoke and ash. It makes her dig her nails into her palms even now in embarrassment. He'd been nice enough, slightly charming, but mostly uninterested. He didn't like her then ... did he? 

 

Bellamy's eyes stay steady on hers. He looks so earnestly sincere. 

 

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, gliding her hand over his on her leg. "I didn't know. You were so focused on Octavia. You had other ... interests. And, yeah, I mean you were my partner, we ran the camp together, I trusted you. I needed you. I ..." 

 

"Oh you've got to finish that sentence." 

 

She closes her eyes and smiles, says it to the back of her eyelids. 

 

"I thought you were hot, ok? Are you happy?" 

 

"I'm getting there." 

 

"But I didn't know. I tried that one time to flirt with you, and you didn't flirt back." 

 

"When?" Bellamy slides seamlessly over her body, hands braced on either side of her torso. She's radiant, he thinks, with her blonde hair spread out around her face and the little, upturned curve of her nose. 

 

"Will you kiss me again if I tell you?" 

 

He lays a hand to her neck and feels the heat of the blood pooling under her skin. She squirms under his touch, and he can't believe she's embarrassed about this, not after everything they've said to each other, after everything they've been through. 

 

"I'll kiss you anyway." His mouth is sweet and feather-light on hers, but she immediately presses back harder, pulling him toward her by the waist until he flicks his tongue across the seam of her lips and deepens the kiss. 

 

For a few moments, she's completely lost in it. Lost in him, and everything else fades away. There's just the silky slip of his curls beneath her fingers and the something citrus that seems interwoven into his shirt. He presses into her body in all the ways that make her heart speed up, even while his hand remains hesitant on her hip, barely stroking the inch of skin exposed there. It's not the haste and fumbling she felt with Finn or the greedy need of her time with Niylah. It's not the desperation and intrigue of her night with Lexa, either. 

It feels more like a natural rhythm between their bodies. He knows how to shift himself up to keep his weight off her, and she instinctually climbs into the air to chase his lips. She's already arching her hips up into the stone muscle of his thigh just as he slides it between hers. It's new, of course. She's never been able to feel the outline of his abs before or interlace her fingers with his and watch them get swallowed up. But she also feels no fear or worry that, after six years, she might be doing something wrong or shakily. 

 

"I think you're so beautiful, Clarke," he whispers into the shell of her ear, and she shivers. 

 

"You're brave," he kisses her cheek. 

 

"And smart," his mouth moves to her neck, and she wiggles a little, relishing the electricity passing through her frame. 

 

"You care about our people so much," he mouths at her collarbone and slides a hand beneath her thin, dark tank top to rest on her stomach. 

 

She twitches slightly when his lips drift an inch lower, but when he fails to make contact with the tops of her breasts, she feels her spine pushing up off the bed, so they move up to meet him instead. 

 

"Bellamy," she laces her fingers into his hair to rest against his scalp until he looks at her. 

 

His chuckle is infectious. It's so sad she never heard him laugh much during their time on Earth. 

 

"Mhmm?" His expression is so earnestly loving that she starts to cry completely without her own permission. 

 

"What is it?" Bellamy is suddenly alarmed, swiping away the tears with his thumb. "Did I hurt you?" 

 

He starts to move away, but she shakes her head and pulls him back down. "No, you're perfect." 

 

"Then what--"

 

 She always took the lead with her past partners but finds that with Bellamy, she doesn't want to be aggressive at all. She loves him too much. Their bond runs too deep at this point, even though in the beginning she wouldn't have minded if he'd pinned her to a wall and taken her hard and fast. Maybe eventually, but not right now. They're both too fragile with the scars of what they've done and who they've become. 

 

Clarke blinks away the last of her tears and kisses his confused face. 

 

"Here," she reaches for his hand, which he gives to her, though it’s clear he’s unsure what’s going on. It finds its way right over the swell of her breast. "Touch me. I want you to. I've been waiting for you to." 

 

She holds his gaze for a moment with just the hint of  challenge, and a flash of heat passes through his eyes. 

 

"If you're sure." 

 

"Never been more sure about anything," she offers, pushing a curl off his forehead. "You're ..." she stumbles around for the words. Nothing sounds big enough, profound enough for what he means to her. She listens to his breathing while she thinks. "You're my whole heart. I trusted you with everything else, so I trust you with my body, too." 

 

He didn't think words could have such an impact on him but finds himself somehow moved and aroused at the same time. He's hardening painfully in his pants and wondering why they're still on. He nods and swallows audibly. 

 

"Ok, ok," he seems to be saying it more to himself than to her. "I've got you."

 

Clarke kisses his temple. 

 

"I know." 

 

The steady thrum is getting more insistent between her legs as she rocks slowly and carefully into Bellamy's thigh in search of casual friction. He squeezes the fullness of her breasts with a kind of reverence she hasn't experienced yet, focusing his attention first on one and then the other. Her skin burns through the cloth, and she wants to tear the tank top from her body, to eliminate his shirt and press her chest against his, but Bellamy is surprisingly slow as if he's come to worship at her personal altar. 

 

When he blankets her mouth with his own, she gets a little dizzy, intoxicated by the wave pattern his tongue sweeps against hers. She could maybe lay like this forever, just running her hands languidly up Bellamy's sides, finally allowing her legs to open as her muscles fully relax and drawing him into her warmth. He's definitely aroused, she can feel him pressing heavily into her thigh, and it sends shocks of pleasure through her core. 

 

She's surprised when he thrusts lightly against her through their pants, humming something into the hollow of her neck. 

 

"What'd you say?" She sweeps a hand on either side of his face and holds it before her own. 

 

"This is like being on fire. Can I?" He gestures in the general direction of the hem of her shirt. 

 

"Yes, yeah." She hums her agreement quickly. "I want you." She grinds deliberately up against his thickness once for effect before allowing him to pull her shirt over her head and unhook her bra like an expert. 

 

He's reaching out to touch the exposed, white-lavendar flesh with mildly trembling fingers when the lock turns on the door. She's never seen Bellamy move so fast to shield her with his body, but he manages to fully cover her, pushing her mostly behind him, just as the door clicks open. 

 

"Ah," Diyoza smirks, stepping into the room and flicking on the wall lights running in narrow strips along the length of it. The hazy yellow makes Clarke's eyes water as she fumbles to rehook her bra at an awkward, bent angle. "The space soldier and his girlfriend enjoying their evening I see. It's always so nice to facilitate young love." 

 

"What do you want?" Bellamy growls at her, turning and making sure Clarke's managed to tug her shirt back on before standing up himself.  

 

Diyoza crosses her arms over her chest, takes in their wild hair and the tangled blankets on the bed with a slow, sweeping glance. 

 

"I'm here to release you." 

 

Bellamy and Clarke exchange a brief look.

 

"Don't get too excited," she warns with a smirk. "You can go back to the village for now, but I'm keeping your friends Raven and Monty in your place. They're going to help us work out the best way to open the bunker. And then," she smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes, "I'll be back for you, Blake. You're going to help me deal with your sister and get this show on the road." 

 

"Always a goddamned catch," Bellamy mutters under his breath. 

 

Clarke reaches for his hand and squeezes it. The answering squeeze helps steady her breath. 

 

"We'll stay, too, with our friends," Clarke says behind his shoulder. 

 

This brings from Diyoza an outright laugh. 

 

"You're not in a position to argue, Clarke," she says. "Get back to the valley and wait until I'm ready for you, or I will rethink our arrangement and pair off you and every single one of your friends with one of my people. Understood?" 

 

She feels Bellamy moving infinitesimally closer to her at the words. 

 

"I told you we'd help you survive, and we will," she says coldly in return. 

 

"That's what I'm banking on. There had better be no more complications, or I bring out the shock collars." 

 

Bellamy tenses beside her, tight as a spring. 

 

Clarke nods curtly and steps toward the open door, but Diyoza's strong fingers wrap around her wrist. 

 

"One more thing," she says lowly into Clarke's ear. "I heard you had some medical training. You helped that woman through her miscarriage, right?" 

 

Her blue eyes widen knowingly at Clarke as if she's done the math. Only so many potential fathers in space. 

 

"What does that have to do with--"

 

"Easy, soldier," Diyoza holds out a warning arm to Bellamy. "I'm not talking to you." 

 

"Is it true?" she insists once more. 

 

"Yes," Clarke grits out, willing the angry tears from prickling at her eyes. 

 

"Good." Diyoza releases Clarke's wrist and begins unbuttoning her jacket and snapping her pants open right in front of them. 

 

Bellamy hears Clarke's gasp as his own eyes blink rapidly. She's pregnant. Already at least halfway along by the looks of it. 

 

"I'll need your help with this, too," she nods toward her stomach. "And if for any reason I'm unsatisfied by your abilities, I'm taking the girl." 

 

Shards of ice stab into Clarke's chest, but she maintains her stoic face and gives the barest nod. She feels Bellamy just behind her as they pass quickly through the titanium hallway interspersed with circular yellow lights glittering like jeweled beetles along the wall. It's not until her boots hit the grass that she lets out the breath that she was holding. 

 

"Clarke--" Bellamy tries when they put a few hundred yards between themselves and Eligius. "We can't leave Monty and Raven unprotected in there!" 

 

"I know!" Clarke turns on her heel, snapping like a turtle at him. "But for now, Diyoza needs them, so they're safe. And we need a plan ..." she mutters more to herself than anything else, stomping off toward the tree line where a path that will carry them back to the village peeks out from the top of a hill. 


	15. Walks With You

The air hangs thick with plant perfume as Bellamy follows Clarke with long strides. Her small, blonde figure cuts a swift path through the trees. She's practically running. 

"Clarke!" 

There's no response beyond the buzz of insects and the soft call of an owl from a branch somewhere high overhead. Off in the distance, Bellamy sees streaks of gold and pale pink on the horizon line amidst the grey sameness. Dawn is coming. He begins to jog after her. 

"Clarke!" He calls more fiercely this time. 

"I have to get back to Madi!" She yells haphazardly over her shoulder. 

 

He hears the mild panic in her voice, watches the tight set of her shoulders as she flies past tangles of bright green leaves. When he catches her arm, she jerks back from him, nearly colliding with a tree. A few stray tears dart down her cheeks, but she bats them away rapidly. He stares at her. 

 

"We need a plan that's going to work. You need to talk to me this time," he says. 

 

Her mouth forms a thin line, and she shakes her head once quickly before scratching the back of her neck. 

 

"I'll come up with something back in the village. Let's just get back to the others." 

 

" _You_  will?" 

 

There's hardness and disbelief all blended together in his tone like a delicate cocktail. 

 

"There's no time for this, come on!" 

 

"Listen, Diyoza was just trying to--"

 

Clarke groans in frustration and tries to move around him, but he catches her by the wrist and pulls her back to face him. Her tiny huff of surprise and the flare of her nostrils takes him back in time, seven years, to a different clearing on sunny afternoon equally full of anxiety over a spear skewered through Jasper's chest and crimson blood seeping out of Chancellor Jaha. It's harder to look at her than he expects. Tears automatically begin building in his brown eyes in response to the glimmer of wetness he sees in her own. 

 

"I'm sorry." 

 

"Stop apologizing. We did that already!" 

 

"Then look at me." 

 

Her eyes flash up to his face then find the tangled brambles underfoot immediately. She taps the toe of her boot, making the leaves and twigs below her crunch. 

 

"If this is going to work, you can't run! I'm right here. I know I'm not exactly how you left me, but I'm here, and I'm trying." 

 

Clarke sniffles loudly and murmurs something he can't quite catch toward the ground. He feels a muscle jump in her forearm and tightens his grip before he can help himself. 

 

"Let me go, Bellamy. I need to find Madi." She struggles against him, but he holds on anyway.  

 

"Not until you hear me out." 

 

He expects her to keep fighting him; her eyes look so wild. But then she unexpectedly stills, slumping backward into the harsh bark of the trunk. After a few moments' pause where he thinks his heart might actually beat out of his chest, he releases her hand and carefully braces his own against the side of her cheekbone instead, angling her face back up to his own. Her tears start spilling over again.  

 

"I'm. So. Sorry." He tries once more, softer. 

 

"You didn't do anything wrong," she tells his collarbone. 

 

He purses his lips. 

 

"I should have told you how I felt before Praimfaya hit. You deserved to hear it. You deserved to know." 

 

She sighs, shoulders dropping and takes a ragged gasp. 

 

"I was going to tell you that day." 

 

It hits him like a punch to the stomach. Bellamy's brow crinkles, and he thumbs at the flow of salty water rolling over her lash lines. 

 

"What? When?" 

 

"When I said  _hurry_ instead." Her voice cracks, a little desperate; she gazes at him imploringly. 

 

He remembers the freezing snow, the wind-whipped trees surrounding the metallic glint of Becca's Lab. Clarke's orange space suit so vivid against that backdrop. He can still recall the worried creases etched into her smooth skin, the momentary panic that rose and fell on her face like a wave. 

 

Bellamy offers her a tired, half-smile. 

 

"I should have went to the tower as soon as I realized you weren't back."

 

"No," she shakes her head, adamant. "What good would it have done?" 

 

He looks at her for so long his head starts to feel floaty. 

 

"We would have been together." 

 

She wraps her hand around his wrist and pulls it away from her face. Reaching behind her, Clarke begins peeling at the scratchy bark instead. Dwelling on what could have been gave her enough anxiety in her first six months on Earth to last a lifetime. She doesn't need to go back there. 

 

"Please don't say that to me, Bellamy. The others needed you on the Ark. You were a good leader. You got them home." 

 

He's very quiet until he steps toward her body, leaning one hand against the tree by her head almost casually. 

 

"What about what I needed? Do you ever factor that in?" 

 

Clarke gulps hard. 

 

"You have it now," she blinks up at him like it costs her something. "You know you do." 

 

"Do I?" He raises an eyebrow at her. "Because I need you to be ok, Clarke. And I need to know that you are--"

 

"God! Don't you see how hard this is now!" She comes alive like a tiger unleashed from its cage, getting closer until she's completely invaded his space. "You're going to have to see her again.  _I'm_ going to have to see her again! It's a fucked up situation all the way around. And I need to work with her, to trust her fully if we have any chance at all of getting our friends and family out of this mess! I have to trust her with  _Madi_."

 

She's panting a little, but her eyes are completely focused on him. 

 

"She's strong, Clarke. She'll understand." 

 

Clarke squints at him and swats away the tan hand that's edged over to her hip, stroking the skin of her side exposed by her tank top riding up. It felt too good - sending small shock waves of pleasure across her ribs and into the center of her chest. 

 

"You can't really be that foolish, Bellamy." 

 

He scoffs. 

 

"I trust her with my life, Clarke. I trust all of them. That's going to have to be enough for you." His tone steels. 

 

There's a very long, unpleasant pause. 

 

"Is it?" 

 

He's holding his breath. 

 

Clarke looks off down the trail for a few moments before turning back to him. 

 

"I'm doing the best I can - what else do you want from me?" 

 

He smiles at that, a flash of teeth when he rakes his hand through his curls. 

 

"Nothing. That's perfect.  _You're_  perfect." 

 

It's her turn to scoff. 

 

"I'm  _not_ ," she raises her chin defiantly. 

 

His hand returns to her hip, and he moves her easily backward until her shoulder blades hit the tree trunk. 

 

"You're perfect for me," he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers while her hands jump to his waist for balance. "We're in this together." 

 

Bellamy's chest grips in a cold shiver when he feels Clarke shake her head, wispy soft edges of her hair tickling against his skin, already starting to sweat as the sun rises. She takes that moment to look up at him and understanding his panic, rubs small circles into his sides with her thumbs. 

 

"Not what I meant," she murmurs. "We are. In this together, I mean. But ... it just doesn't feel like ... "

 

"What?" he asks urgently, genuinely confused. 

 

"It doesn't feel like enough anymore." 

 

The ice in his chest thaws too rapidly, melting and soaking straight into a blaze buried much deeper than his stomach when he notices her pupils swallowing up the blue of her irises. 

 

"I love you, Bellamy. I have for so long." 

 

His answering smile is sort of blinding.  _Was he always so beautiful? Did she miss it?_

 

"Clarke--" his voice breaks on emotion. He blinks once. "I've  _only_  ever loved you." 

 

She pulls at him then, and he sinks into her body, one hand under her shirt to stroke the warm skin of her belly and the other cupping her jaw to bring her mouth to his. The heaviness of his body against hers is something she knows she'll get used to quickly, come to adore. 

 

She kisses him back slowly, trying to savor the way his lips feel and the soft pressure he puts on her mouth. They stay that way for several minutes, locked together with his hips against hers and the delicate dance of their mouths to keep them occupied. It's not until an orange-and-black fox passes by too close to them that they break apart, still starry-eyed. Its presence reminds them they're not safe there, that they have to move on. 


	16. Ripple Effect

By the time they reach the pond, blue is being leeched from the eastern sky and replaced by streaks of indigo and lilac. It's nestled in a hollow surrounded by a canopy of trees covered in glossy leaves. The water's surface is serenely calm and perfectly smooth. Clarke stops and stares at it longingly for a moment, bracing her hand against a tree trunk and using the other to wipe the sweat off her brow. It feels like they've been walking for hours. 

 

"Bellamy?" 

 

"Yeah?" He comes up being her, snapping twigs with sharp cracks as he moves through the underbrush. All the time in space has made him lose a bit of his forest agility. 

 

She bites her lip and glances between his face and the water's edge. 

 

"Do you mind if I take a quick break before we go back home? I need to clean up." 

 

His body is rigid, all tight lines and clenched muscles as he takes in the landscape, eyes roaming in every direction swiftly. A part of the solider she remembers is still there, she thinks with a small, internal smile. He has no gun, and she assumes that's going to be his major concern. 

 

"I can't protect you if anyone from Eligius shows up," he admits at last. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?" 

 

Clarke examines the bits of dirt streaking her skin and rubs at the junction of her sweaty neck and shoulder. 

 

"Tomorrow we'll be trying to get back to Eligius to free our friends," she returns. "There won't be time." 

 

He knows she's right, but it doesn't stop the sour pit from blooming to life in the center of his chest. 

 

"Besides," Clarke's saying as she strolls down to the pond, calmly tossing her thin jacket into what looks like a blackberry bush and stripping off her tank top with ease. "We walked for hours; nobody's coming after us. Not tonight at least. They don't know the woods like I do." 

 

Bellamy wants to retort but he's suddenly distracted by the expanse of milky white skin across her back and the way her shoulder blades slide beneath it. 

 

"Clarke..."

 

"It'll be ok. I'll be fast. I wouldn't do it if I didn't think we were safe," she returns, hearing the warning in his voice. "I know we need to get back to Madi and the others." 

 

"You never make it easy," he grumbles beneath his breath but then finds himself sitting down on a log near where she's kicking off her pants. 

 

It feels voyeuristic to watch her wade into the calm water in her bra and underwear. But then Clarke glances over her shoulder and throws him a soft, tentative smile, and he remembers that he's forgotten that they're sort of together now. The thought of it sends a wave of warmth down his limbs. 

 

"You know ... you could come in," Clarke calls to him when the water reaches her waist. She moves slowly and gracefully as if she's done this a thousand times. He realizes with a jolt that she has, that she probably came to this very pond to clean up on a regular basis during the six years they were apart. 

 

"That's not the best idea." 

 

"I already told you nobody's coming," she huffs, pursuing her lips at him. 

 

He smirks a little, making a more obvious show of tracing the dip of her bra-clad breasts with his eyes this time. Being able to look at her like this is going to take some getting used to as well. He worked so hard to never check her out before, and he'd mostly succeeded. 

 

Half of Clarke's mouth turns up when she realizes what he's doing, and she motions to him with one hand. 

 

"Come clean up," she says as if it's as simple as asking him to bring the rover to the front gates of Arkadia. "I'll help you get the dirt off your skin." 

 

He can't help it, much as he knows it's a bad idea. His dick twitches in his pants watching as she runs the flat of her palms up her forearms to the edge of her shoulders. His boots move of their own accord, and he finds himself stripping off his shirt and leaving it next to hers in the bush before unbuttoning his pants and kicking off his boots. Standing at the edge of the water and letting its chill lap at his toes, he's very glad he doesn't have an erection yet. 

 

"There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" she smiles at him sweetly. 

 

"You're a menace," he grits back. "This is cold." 

 

"It's not that bad. You get used to it." 

 

They were never in the same bathing group back at the dropship. It's a random fact that pops into his brain now that Clarke's blue eyes are sparkling at him, roaming over the planes of his chest as he walks deeper into the water. They generally split up their time at the creek near their camp, with Clarke leading small bands of girls down about twice a week and him doing the same with the guys. Looking at her glowing skin and the reflection of the last clouds appearing in the still water surrounding her, he knows he never would have stood a chance back then if they'd done anything differently. He pushes off the squishy, sodden bottom of the pond, praying nothing too menacing lurks within, before immersing himself in the water to swim toward the other end and get the grime out of his hair. The cold stings his skin and makes his eyes prickle, but he manages to reach the round, gray rocks creating something of a platform a few dozen feet away. 

 

"Impressive," Clarke calls when he resurfaces. "You didn't forget." 

 

"No," he looks at her warmly. "I didn't forget." 

 

He sits down on a low stone, so his waist is still in the water and takes to rubbing off the dark bits of dirt he sees, figuring keeping his distance is the best way to go. Clarke watches the way his abs tighten as he shifts and finds herself swimming a little closer to him. 

 

"Hey," her hand lands on his knee to get his attention and his eyes jump to hers, pupils expanding in the lessening light. She has a clump of what appears to be scratchy-looking seaweed in her hand, probably collected from the pond bottom. "Can you scrape off my back with this please?" 

 

Bellamy extends his hand to take it from her with a nod, and she feels the bolt of electricity where their fingers brush. Too long. They let everything build for too long. He widens his knees, expecting her to stand between them. But she surprises him, spinning around and launching herself lightly onto his right thigh as the water splashes into her side. She locks her ankles behind his calf for balance, and he immediately goes to steady her waist with his hand, pressing into the smooth flesh, a little tighter than he remembers it being before. 

 

"Easy," he murmurs in her ear and feels her shiver. 

 

They're quiet, just listening to the sound of chattering birds in the distance, while he works the seaweed over the few freckles along her back. Clarke can barely breathe, but it feels so good being in Bellamy's lap that she just tries to enjoy it, letting her eyes drift closed and rubbing circles into his knee with her thumb. It's his lips on the bone of her shoulder that shock her, sending goosebumps out all across her arms. It's easier like this, although she knows neither of them want to acknowledge it. But not looking into his too-deep eyes filled with so much loss, grief, regret, love, understanding makes it simpler to do what feels most natural. She falls against his chest as his lips climb higher up her neck and under her ear. 

 

"You're beautiful, Clarke." 

 

It's said so gently, so delicately that it breaks something open inside her that she didn't know she was holding. Suddenly, she's rotating around and throwing one leg over each side of his waist, locking her arms around his neck and hiding her face against the top of his chest, pressing a light kiss to an old, pale pink scar that jaggedly cuts into the space near his collarbone. His large hands find her hips, and nothing has ever felt quite as good as him tipping them forward, so the thin stretch of cloth covering her pussy rubs abrasively into the crotch of his boxers. Bellamy's not insistent about it at all. He only holds his hand in place to move her against him a few times before he returns his hand innocently to her waist. But it's enough. 

 

Clarke grinds a slow and steady rhythm against him, leaning back at last and soaking in the devotion in his dark eyes when they meet hers. She moves her hands to his strong shoulders and bites back a smile when one of his hands finds the flesh of her ass cheek, gripping it securely. He's hardening fast and every drag of her clit against his length is causing shudders through her body. It's too much and not enough, so she does the only thing she can think of to make it better. 

 

"Touch me," she whispers into the still night air. 

 

Bellamy groans, and her low back stiffens for a moment but then his thick index finger is pushing aside the elastic of her panties and stroking up the seam of her cunt, getting lost in her slickening folds despite her stuttering movements. 

 

"You're perfect," she hears him husk before pushing two of his fingers into her body where they begin rubbing at her with practiced finesse as though he'd touched her hundreds of times. 

 

She gazes into his eyes one last time, a gasp tearing its way up her throat at being filled up for the first time in years by anything thicker than her own fingers. "Bell," she breathes out because there's nothing left to say to encompass the way he makes her feel so safe and so cared for. So she leans down and presses her trembling lips to his and sighs when his tongue finds hers because he tastes right, too. Like spices shaken over wild meat around a bonfire. Like the wind on the first day that really feels like fall. Like home. 

 

Clarke kisses back until her lips tingle and start to swell, until she's climbing toward the stars and the coil within her threatens to snap. She watches him take in her full breasts when they break apart, and tightening her thighs on either side of him, she arches up in the hopes he'll get the idea. 

 

His hand teasing the skin of her ribcage is her response. Bellamy looks at her, smirking, and she swears the whatever the hell we want in him might just be a sliver, but it's still there. He cups her through the cloth, gripping firmly before running his thumb around and around the edge of her nipple until it stands out painfully hard. He crooks his fingers hard against her outer wall, making her gasp when they land on her nerve bundle tucked away securely there. 

 

"Let go, Clarke," he says, more loudly than her mewling. "You can let go when you're with me."  


	17. Could've, Should've, Would've

Every muscle in Clarke's abdomen tightens blissfully. Her hips are undulating against Bellamy of their own accord. She tucks her face away in the crook of his neck desperate for the wave to break and shatter, to sweep her under into a place where she won't have to think about anything else but how solid his biceps are and how sweet his skin tastes. But the moment ... it never comes. 

 

The snap of a twig too close for comfort sets Bellamy's back ramrod straight in seconds. With a sureness of movement, he tugs her off his lap and onto the rock next to him, blocking her body with his own. It was stupid to stop here, not knowing what could be in the woods with them. His eyes meet hers briefly - she's still clutching his forearm in a vice grip. They have no weapons, no real means of defense. 

 

It's the dark swirls of the facial tattoo he glimpses through the thick foliage that calm Bellamy's racing heart rate. Emori emerges in the clearing with a loud groan and roll of her eyes. 

 

"I told you it was probably them, John!" she calls over her shoulder. 

 

Clarke lets out the breath she was holding. They're safe. 

 

Murphy appears a moment later, sliding a hand through his hair, exasperation all over his face. "You were right, babe. But I didn't think the King and Princess would be interested in  _anything other than getting back to camp and finding a way to free their friends_." 

 

Clarke flushes hotly. 

 

"How did you know we'd been released?" Bellamy asks, hauling himself back onto land and pulling Clarke up under her elbows. Emori takes pity on them and hurries to gather up their clothes on the other side of the pond. 

 

"One of Diyoza's men - Zeke I think his name was? - he tipped us off that she was going to keep Monty and Raven and trade you two out." 

 

"Why would he say that?" Clarke musters as much dignity as she can into her voice while trying to pull her pants back over her damp legs. 

 

Emori shrugs, handing over her top. 

 

"Maybe he's unhappy with how the Military Queen runs things," Murphy speculates. "Shock collars don't seem like particularly friendly ways to get people to do what you want." 

 

Clarke grimaces, remembering the night she found him curled up against a thick tree trunk, fingernails torn off. 

 

"Best we can tell from the conversation after she took you two, Zeke Shaw is their pilot. It means he has access to tech," Emori adds. "I know it's a long shot, but Echo thinks he cracked into some radio communications from, uh, you," she gestures to Clarke, "to us maybe?" 

 

Clarke offers a soft jerk of her chin. "Possible," is all she says, guilt rising up through her chest like a tidal wave. All those things she said - it just fed precious ammunition to their enemy, and she hates herself for it. 

 

"It's ok," Emori steps closer to Clarke and pats her shoulder a little awkwardly. "Hearing what happened to you would be enough to make anybody sympathetic." 

 

"That's a very optimistic view," Murphy bites. 

 

Bellamy swallows hard, sickness settling in his stomach. He's inclined to agree with Murphy. Clarke's avoiding his eyes as she tugs on her shoes. 

 

"Eligius intercepted your calls to us, didn't they?" he asks softly anyway. She's thankful he doesn't mention the calls were specifically to  _him_. "Raven knew the moment she called you Wanheda." 

 

"Yeah," she says quietly after a moment. 

 

"Jesus!" Murphy throws up his hand. "So now she knows every damned thing about all of us, doesn't she?" He takes a step toward Clarke before looking at her face and falling back again, choosing to rake a hand across his facial hair instead. "This is great, just great." 

 

"It's not her fault, John," Emori says sharply. "We  _left her here for six years._ Who was she supposed to talk to? She didn't know anybody else was out there spying!" 

 

"I wasn't alone," Clarke gets to her feet. "I had Madi." Her blue eyes feel like tiny lasers on the side of his cheek, and, as always, Bellamy's pulled to return her gaze like a magnet. He hears her as if she'd spoken it aloud.  _I had you, too._  

 

"But then why wouldn't Eligius have reached out to us in space if they knew we were up there from Clarke's calls?" Bellamy asks, more to distract himself than anything else. They begin following Murphy and Emori back along the loose trail toward the valley they now call home. 

 

Murphy raises an incredulous eyebrow. 

 

"We've literally been speared, sautéed, drilled and crucified by strangers, Bellamy," he scoffs. "If they had similar experiences, I can understand them not sending a fruit basket to the sky." 

 

Emori snorts but schools her face rapidly. 

 

"It doesn't matter," Murphy hisses quickly. "Bottom line is they've got Raven and Monty, and we've got to get them the hell--"

 

A figure darts through the trees a hundred yards in front of them. Clarke feels rather than sees Bellamy move a little closer to her while Murphy pulls his gun up to chest level. 

 

"I'm warning you once - I'll shoot first and ask questions later," Murphy's sarcastic drawl is so close to Clarke's memories of him that it makes her heart ache a bit. 

 

"It's me, you ass," Echo steps into view, eyes sweeping over the party of four as she draws nearer, some mixture of relief and pain sitting high on her cheekbones. 

 

"Where's Madi?" Clarke demands of her immediately. 

 

"Back at camp with Harper. Don't worry, Clarke.  _Your_  kid is safe." 

 

It sobers her instantly. For a long moment, it's like nobody knows what to say. Clarke finally settles on "Thank you," and pushes forward past them all toward the village, the others trailing behind in her wake. 

 

***

 

Long strands from Raven's high ponytail have fallen out of their confines, sticking to her sweaty neck and the side of her face. The heavy metal of the shock collar rests like a noose below her chin. She grimaces when she hears the click of Monty's being put in place on the long bench beside her. They're in some sort of lowly lit holding chamber; it's military green, and the narrow, rectangular windows above cast deepening shadows across the walls. They didn't even get the opportunity to see Bellamy and Clarke physically leave the Eligius camp. Diyoza had promised she kept their friends safe, but what was a promise from another psychotic enemy on the ground really worth? 

 

"There we go," Diyoza smiles, a hand absently stroking the soft swell of her stomach.  _No,_ Raven thinks _. There's no way ... but what if? It's not impossible, after all._ Her breathing evens out as she takes in this new bit of information. If Diyoza is pregnant, she'll need a doctor. Sure, Clarke would be helpful, but unless she's seriously mistaken, she must really be after--

 

"Nice and cozy," Diyoza cuts into her thoughts from directly above her. "Neither of you are going to do anything stupid now, are you? Because we all want the same thing. To free the bunker and build a little society on the last patch of Earth left. Isn't that right?" 

 

At their silence, she gestures at a wiry man wearing a maniacal smile and an awful spiked hairstyle.  

 

"McCreary?" 

 

The man grins wider, jerking the creaking chains attached to the collars, forcing them forward on the benches. 

 

"Yes," Raven hisses at the pull of her neck muscles. "That's what we want." 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the tall young man, the one who spoke back to Diyoza earlier, shift his weight forward slightly, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. 

 

"Perfect," Diyoza smiles. "We have the machinery to blow the bunker open, that's not the issue. Though of course your tech savvy won't hurt if anything goes wrong," she adds as an afterthought.  

 

"Then what's the issue?" Monty demands tartly. 

 

Raven squeezes her eyes shut as she hears Monty's yelp of pain as a flow of electricity surges through his body. 

 

"Manners, Mr. Green," McCreary's sick sing-song calls out. "We just want to be friends." 

 

Forcing herself to remain calm, Raven turns her attention back to Diyoza. 

 

"How is it you think we can help you then?" 

 

"Now I'm glad you asked that, Ms. Reyes," Diyoza sits down on the bench right across from her. "Shaw," she gestures toward the man standing in the shadowy corner whose face is stoic and unreadable now. "Is an excellent decoder alongside being a fair flyer. He intercepted your friend Clarke's radio calls. Did you know you could make over 2,000 radio calls in six years?" She laughs airily as if this is hysterical information. 

 

Monty sighs audibly. 

 

_Yeah, they're so fucked._

_"_ Well, beside how  _proud_  Clarke was of Bellamy and his leadership abilities, besides the hours of listening to how much she'd suffered and how much she'd lost and how she wanted to end it all ..." 

 

Raven bites down so hard into her lip she tastes blood. 

 

"... We learned a lot about Octavia. Bellamy's sister. The one running the bunker. She seems to be a real violent piece of work. Clarke also talked about how vicious and brutish the - grounders, is that right? - could be."

 

"So if you already know all of this, what the hell do you want --"

 

"Shut up," McCreary snaps, a stab of electricity shooting through Raven who tries not to yell out with the pain of it.  

 

"Easy there, you've endured worse," Diyoza clicks her tongue. "Shot randomly and forever disabled by a scared boy trying to kill the Blakes, operated on with no anesthesia, watching your first love get murdered, drilled for bone marrow, possessed by an AI ... you've lived a very interesting life for a woman so young, Ms. Reyes." 

 

It's the gentle brush of Monty's fingers against her own that allows her to breathe again. Diyoza purses her lips and rises, pacing around the room. 

 

"What I don't know is what makes Octavia, tick. What's she afraid of? What does she want? What motivates her?"

 

"And how is knowing that going to help you exactly?" Monty questions. Raven's impressed with the civility he manages in his tone. "When you open the bunker, they're going to be so grateful to get out. Do you think they'll want to attack you or something?" 

 

Diyoza stops and smirks at him. 

 

"I forget how naive youth is," she murmurs. "No leader wants to be removed from power, Mr. Green. And make no mistake, the Garden of Eden isn't big enough for so much feminist energy." 

 

She laughs a little at her own joke. 

 

Zeke is making a small gesture with his fingers, as if he's lightly petting a rabbit before twirling his long fingers upward into a graceful arc. 

 

_Smooth over it,_ the motion seems to imply. 

 

"Octavia and the rest of our people will be happy to see us," Raven tries again. "We've all been separated for six years. Believe me, we never wanted war when we came to the ground. We just wanted a safe place to live because the Ark was dying." 

 

"You're getting better - I almost believed you," Diyoza raises her eyebrows at McCreary. 

 

"I almost believed her too," McCreary returns, pulling on her collar for good measure. 

 

"Don't," she hears Monty breath near her left ear. 

 

"So what I need to know is everything you can think of to tell me about Octavia. No detail is too small." She clinks her nails across the edge of a deserted bench. "I already know that Bellamy will do whatever he has to to protect his sister from Clarke's stories. But what about her? Would she return the favor?" 

 

Monty shifts uncomfortably. 

 

"What if we don't know the answer?" 

 

The shock lash is stronger, and his body shakes. 

 

"Stop it!" Raven yells out, and Zeke launches forward off the wall. 

 

"It's enough!" he bellows at McCreary. "The guy's just asking a question." 

 

"Then you're going to have to think real, real hard," McCreary bends down so his face is inches from Monty's. 

 

"More importantly," Diyoza continues as if nothing significant happened. "Clarke addressed  _every_   _single_  radio call to Bellamy. That told me a good deal. But you two have lived with him for six years." 

 

_Goddamn Clarke and her Goddamn secrets._

 

Diyoza brushes her palm across Raven's cheek and pats Monty's shoulder. 

 

"You can understand why I might feel Octavia is a threat to keep at bay. She fought to the death to win the bunker for the clans and probably spent the last six years promising her people a good life in the land of plenty. They're not going to be thrilled to see us - the newest invaders as I'm sure we'll be named." 

 

"That's all speculation," Raven murmurs. 

 

Diyoza laughs drily. 

 

"It is, but I do have a long history of understanding what people do when they feel threatened. So if it comes down to eliminating Octavia as a threat, I know I'll have to deal with Bellamy - and Clarke by extension I'm sure. But," she taps her belly again. "As you can see, I need Clarke and her mother, the doctor." 

 

"So tell me, Mr. Green, Ms. Reyes - if Octavia doesn't agree to play nice and share this patch of Eden we found - how far would Bellamy go to protect her? How far would Clarke go to protect them both? And if he had to choose between his sister and his ... whatever it is Clarke is to him - who wins?" 

 

Monty and Raven exchange a long look. She can see the desperate confusion she feels reflected back in his pale face. 

 

"Think carefully about your answer," McCreary issues two tiny shocks to their spines. "The fate of the human face might depend on it." 

 


	18. Burn Marks

Clarke strides purposefully down the final hill overlooking the tiny village she built for her friends to come home to. A twilight peace settles over the mountainous greenery flowing in every direction while long shadows build on the ground between the trees. Her sharp eyes flash around the collection of homes, the clothing blowing in the breeze on the line to dry. Madi slams into her in a blur of limbs and braids. 

"You're back!" she sighs happily, burying her nose in Clarke's collarbone. 

"My little Nablida. Hi. Did Harper take good care of you?" 

Clarke's shoulders drop with the knowledge that her child is safe. She hasn't laid eyes on her since she told her to hide in the caves while they met with Diyoza. It was a stupid plan, she thinks now, squeezing the girl to her and rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. Reckless. If Diyoza had taken them all, what would Madi have done? 

"I'm fine. I'm glad you're safe!" she grips Clarke once more around the middle before drawing back and glancing around at the others clambering down through the dirt and pine needles. "Where's Monty and Raven?" 

"It's a good question, kid," Murphy throws an accusing look at Clarke. 

"You think I want them back trapped back there, Murphy?" Bellamy's scraping bark is suddenly right behind her. "There wasn't a way to break them out. Me and Clarke against dozens of armed prisoners? We need to regroup. We need a plan." 

"Bellamy!" Madi surprises them all when she turns to embrace him fiercely. "I knew you'd keep her safe!" 

Bellamy's eyes widen for a moment before he smiles a little and embraces her back. "We're going to make sure everyone is safe," he says it to her upturned face like a promise. 

Clarke immediately quells the sensation stirring in her stomach that says this is the man she remembered when he catches her eye over Madi's head. Instead, she nods a hello to Harper, who is striding over to them from the cabin holding out a radio. 

"Thank you for taking care of--"

"I need to know Monty's ok," Harper cuts across her praise, worry embroidered into the tiny lines around her mouth and eyes. "Eligius gave us a radio before they made us leave to stay in contact. Use it," she pushes the rectangular device into Clarke's hand. "Diyoza will only talk to you." 

Taking the radio, she avoids Echo's glare and Murphy's disgusted huff, bracing herself against a tree. The exhaustion is hitting her like a monsoon, pulsing through her body. Flicking the radio on, she hears the crackle of static before the hum of something clicking into place. 

"Colonel Diyoza? This is Clarke Griffin. Do you copy?" 

In the silence that follows, Bellamy shifts closer to her, an arm still slung around Madi's shoulders. She wants to reach for his hand, but it feels like the wrong thing to do. 

"Clarke. To what do I owe the honor?" Diyoza's voice breaks into the stillness. 

"I need to know my friends are all right." 

"What do you think I would do to them exactly? After everything we discussed about restarting the human race?" 

Ignoring the swish of sourness in her stomach, she presses on, willing her voice steady.

"I need to hear their voices. Let me hear them if you want to be able to trust the doctor delivering your baby in a few months," she snaps. "A lot of things can go horribly wrong during childbirth." 

There's a hiss, a clunking noise, the muffled sound of footsteps and then Raven's voice floods the clearing. 

Emori sighs in relief, sagging into Murphy. 

"Clarke? I'm fine. We're fine. We need to help Eligius  _get the bunker open,"_ she emphasizes grittily. "Focus on making sure that happens." 

Harper wrings her wrists as if letting off building nervous energy. 

"I will," Clarke promises. "You two hang in there. This'll be over soon." 

Her heart's strumming fast when Diyoza cuts back onto the line. 

"See? I won't hurt  _helpful_  individuals, Clarke. Give us another day or two, and I think we'll be ready to save your people from a year too long underground. I'm sure they're getting a little  _desperate_  to breathe fresh air again. And I sure hope that hydrofarm has kept up with food production. But don’t worry. Mr. Green and Ms. Reyes have proven very useful so far. But if that changes ..." 

The unmistakable sound of Raven yelping in pain comes from the radio. 

Murphy makes a move forward, but Bellamy throws out his arm, blocking him. 

"Things will not go so pleasantly. So let's make sure all of your people keep their promises to us, or I'll have everyone paired off before you can say may we meet again." 

Clarke swipes at the sweat lining her forehead. 

"I understand." 

"Good. I'll be in touch when we're ready for you. Have a nice night." 

She hands the radio back to Harper wordlessly. The silence is thick and uncomfortable, nobody knowing what to say to each other. Finally, it’s Echo who speaks.

"Let's prepare for dinner, and we can talk through our plans while we eat. We need to get to bed early tonight. I don't know what Eligius is going to do, but I want everyone prepared from this point on to be ready to go back whenever we're called. We can't do any damage yet - we're far too outnumbered. But as soon as we have our people back, it's a different story." 

Harper, Murphy and Emori nod, Emori squeezing Clarke's shoulder before the trio head off toward the smaller cabin where Clarke's stored extra rations to make it through winter. 

"You better have one goddamn good plan," Murphy hisses as he steps past Bellamy and Clarke. 

"I'm going to help them," Madi glances up where Clarke stands by the tree. "I know where you hid the best cuts of meat." 

She scampers off through the underbrush noisily, boots kicking up decaying moss, leaving a stoic Echo watching Bellamy carefully. "Are you ok?" she asks him lowly. "Did they hurt you?" 

Clarke's throat tightens at the concern in the other woman's voice. Feeling like an awkward third wheel, she mumbles something about loading guns with the bullets she made and takes off for the other side of the settlement before either of them can see the tears building in her eyes. 

~~***~~

Bellamy watches Clarke's petite figure wind through the trees until she's out of sight before he turns back to Echo. 

"I'm fine," he says kindly. "What about you?" He inspects her lithe form swiftly. "They didn't touch you all after they took us, did they?" 

"No," she kicks her boot once into the dirt, a twitch. "They didn't harm us." 

"Good," he murmurs. "That's good." 

"And ... " he scratches the back of his neck, finding it incredibly hard to look into her questioning face even though he knows he must. "How are you feeling? I hope you're not still in pain."

"I'm a warrior, Bellamy," she returns more sharply. "I can handle myself." 

"You know that I'm sorry." It's all he can think to say. 

She laughs darkly. 

"Sorry is what everybody says to try to make up for not doing the right thing in the first place. It is the weak way." 

"Echo-"

Her voice is sharp enough to send a squirrel scurrying out of a tree hollow and off into the opposite direction. 

"My family left me to the Azgeda guard when I was ten. This is who I've always been," she pauses, biting her lip. "Living with you all in space gave me ... belonging." It seems hard for her to say but her brown eyes never leave his, and he finds he can't look away. "You were a big part of that. You hated me, you couldn't forgive me, but you wouldn't let me die, either. You wanted me to try to be better, to deserve a chance at something more.”

Bellamy breathes in harshly through his nose, rubs the skin across his jawline. "You still belong, Echo. We're all still here for you - you know that. I hate what happened to you. I hate what I did - it was irresponsible. It's not who I want to be. That's not what should have happened." 

She takes a step closer to him, mouth thinning into a stern line. 

"Do you regret all of it?" she whispers.

His swallow is audible. 

"I don't regret getting to know you as a person. I do regret that I hurt you." 

He knows it's not enough; she can tell by the way his fists twitch at his sides. 

"Even if the child survived, this would be a half-life for it." Bellamy winces at her words. "Caught between a mother trying too hard and a father who constantly wanted to be elsewhere. I watched you suffer for six years up there," she points her finger toward the darkening sky where expansive gray clouds are beginning to  swell above them. "Worried about what was happening to Octavia, sick over leaving Clarke behind to die." 

It's not like he can deny it, so he just stands and waits. 

"That's not what I would want for my baby." 

"I'm sorry," his voice breaks a little. "This isn't what I expected." 

"No, it's not. But you can't help it either. The heart of who you are is loving them." 

~~***~~

Clarke finds them half an hour later. She's listened to Emori account everything that happened after she and Bellamy were taken into the Eligius ship. And now, she's just arrived into this part of the forest to pick some mulberries off the overflowing bushes for dinner. It wasn't her intention to linger when she first stumbled upon them. But when she did, it stirred something warm inside her that she'd done a good job of keeping at bay for years. How many times had she moaned into the radio over the years, asking Bellamy how he had managed to deal with Octavia's rebellions though she knew he would never respond? As she stands there, drinking them in hungrily, she's 17 again. There's an ancient football game roaring to life on the projector screen while her father cheers from the couch in their quarters, high-fiving her as the Steelers win the Superbowl. Swallowing the emotion, she shakes her head lightly, bracing against a tree, so she'll have the best view. 

Bellamy's standing at the edge of the flat, shallow pond just a quarter mile off to the west of the village. It's a tiny body of water, but wide, oval stones rest along its bank, perfect for skipping. He holds one in his angled wrist. Madi watches him with intention as he flicks it out across the stillness where it bounces several times before sinking with a plunk. 

She gives a whoop of delight when he succeeds and insists she get a chance to try. 

He smiles down at her, reaching out to touch the end of her braid. Clarke can make out his deep voice asking if that's purple in her hair. 

"It was Harper's special berry juice," Madi sings back, proud. "Clarke says we can never waste them, but Harper didn't mind." 

She says a silent prayer of thanks for Harper's nurturing instinct and ability to keep Madi distracted while she was gone before creeping back toward camp. 

~~***~~

Murphy's been arguing with Bellamy for the past twenty minutes about rescuing Monty and Raven. 

"You really think that sick bitch isn't torturing them right now?" he snaps, pacing angrily around the campfire. 

Dinner is long over, but it only seems to have given Murphy boundless energy as he rants about how their friends would never leave Bellamy behind. Echo and Emori have already gone to bed, while Madi is half reclined, head on Harper's lap, dozing while the blonde's eyes drift shut before snapping open again at intervals. 

"I'm  _not_  leaving them," Bellamy grits, exhaustion taking up residence in his throat. Clarke's seated beside him on the log bench. She shifted closer  unconsciously as the attacks grew more fierce. Hesitatingly, she brings her palm up now behind them to his shoulder blades, rubbing back and forth. He stills momentarily before relaxing into her touch. "We just don't have the manpower to spring an attack." 

"So that's it, then?" Murphy throws up his arms in disbelief. "You're just going to let them suffer?" 

Bellamy drops his head into his hands, so Clarke speaks up, making the same argument he'd already tried twice. 

"Diyoza needs to keep them well, Murphy. They understand how the bunker works and can help her open it without destroying its tech and resources. She can't just blow it up and risk killing people inside. They're both strong. They'll be ok until we get to them. It sucks, I know," she says more forcefully as he looks ready to protest, "But we'll be with them soon. I promise. I want them free as much as you do." 

It's Madi's stirring that finally shuts down the debate. 

"Is it morning?" she says sleepily, stretching her arms over her head. "Are we going yet?" 

"No, it's still night," Harper soothes, eyeing Clarke through the dancing flames and how she's nearly in Bellamy's lap at this point. "Why don't we head to bed in the cabin, hmm? Much more cozy there." 

She stands and offers a hand to a sleepy Madi who accepts it. 

"'Night, Clarke," Madi swoops down and embraces her with a hug. "'Night, Bell-mee." 

"Sleep well, kid," Bellamy says softly. 

Madi crinkles her nose, running a hand through her tangled mane, eyes falling on Murphy. 

"You're loud," she accuses. 

He shrugs, lifting his eyebrows as if to say,  _Yeah, what's your point?_  

"But you love your friends, and that's good." 

With that, she leaves a speechless Murphy behind and follows a gesturing Harper toward the cabins. 

"Well," Murphy says into the ensuing quiet, suddenly seeming oddly out of place. "We'll finish this tomorrow. We need to get them out - that's all I'm saying." 

Bellamy nods solemnly, standing and clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We will. I swear. We're gonna get all our people out of this alive." 

It isn't until Murphy's footsteps recede that Bellamy meets Clarke's gaze. She's looking right back with dark, wide pupils. He rubs the back of his neck before reaching down for the water bucket.

"Uh, Princess..." 

"Put the fire out, Bellamy," she licks her lower lip, standing. 

He does it with the hiss of the liquid splashing onto the rocks circling the blaze. She takes a step closer to him. He clears his throat. 

"Well, uh, goodnight," he stumbles through the words. 

"No," Clarke returns, barely audible. 

Bellamy blinks. 

She reaches for his left hand, intertwining their fingers as he drops the bucket. 

"I set up pallets in the empty cabin earlier." She jerks her head in its general direction. 

"You did?" His tone darkens, and it makes her spine zing despite everything. Now or never. 

"Yeah. Come on," she pulls at his hand softly. "I don't want to sleep alone." 

 

 


	19. Take Another Little Piece of My Heart

Bellamy's hand is hot and rough in hers. She feels the smallest tug of resistance as she guides them forward down the dirt path toward the open cabin. In the distance, the croak of bullfrogs echoes. Smatterings of firefly lights flit at the periphery of her vision when she's quick enough to catch them. Her heart beats harder in her chest from looking at him. His face is set in a neutral position, but he's blinking more than usual. Biting her lip and sighing, she stops moving, which sends him almost colliding into her near the doorway. Clearly, he wasn't even paying attention but remains lost in his own thoughts. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, straightening up and placing a tentative hand on the small of her back to steady himself. She wants to lean in closer and smell the woodsmoke that's lodged into the fibers of his shirt.  

"Don't be." Her chuckle is nervous "What's wrong?" 

His strangeness is making her edgy too, but she doesn't think they should be. Not after all this time. 

"I'm fine." 

She cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow, brushes some invisible dirt from her pant leg. After all this, everything they've been through, he's going to back out. She senses it like wild animals sense a coming storm. He's going to be guilty, tell her she deserves better, look at her with his too sad eyes until she breaks open and agrees to whatever he tells her is the morally sound decision. One glance at his face tells her she's right. But, honestly, _fuck morality_ at this point. She's not doing anything wrong. 

"We don't have to go in there together," she says flatly after a minute, face turned away toward the dense woods. She won't let him watch her heart break open again. "Or, we could just sleep." 

His brow furrows, and then he's reaching out to her like it's a reflex, something he always does, and brings her head into the center of his chest, stroking the back of her head and shoulder blades. Tears sting at the corners of her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall where he can feel them. Her arms wrap around his waist on their own. There's no world she could ever live in where the comfort of his arms isn't where she wants to rest. Even when he's a self-defeating ass.  

"That's not it," he whispers into her ear. "I want to be with you." 

"Then what  _is_  it?" she hums desperately, tugging at the curls climbing along the back of his neck a little meanly. He groans when she rises on her tiptoes and bites at his jaw. She wants to cause him a little physical pain in her frustration, yet it turns into a kiss against her better judgment. 

"Come here." 

He tugs her into the darkening cabin and shuts the door behind him. It's quiet here, the air still. One wall is half covered with her random sketches of lizards on lily pads and birds flying over mountain peaks. 

There's tension in Bellamy's muscles. He folds his arms across his chest, and she sits down in a chair tapping her boot impatiently into the scuffed floor. She doesn't mean to pressure him; she doesn't want to be unkind. Yet all the unused energy between them is finally seeping its way out of her pores like ink oozing out of a threatened octopus, and she can't contain it. 

Bellamy seemingly ignores her while he starts a fire and lights two torches with the orange blaze to hang along the walls. His back muscles flex and stretch while he works, and she finds herself watching them. At last, he finishes, wiping his hands on his pants. 

"It's ok," she says quietly. "Whatever you want ... or don't want ... it's ok." 

"It's not ok," he says gruffly, a deep sadness in his eyes that makes her hurt, too. 

A moment later, he's crouching on one knee in front of her. The gesture steals her breath when his fingers begin sliding over her wrists, and she latches her own around his. Just like that, they're six years younger, less careworn, in a gleaming blue-silver, futuristic room. She wanted to forgive him then, too. She was desperate to forgive him. His dark eyes were so full of hurt and misery - then flashes of optimism that cut into her chest, making her believe in something better. There is more pain in his face now, more wisdom, as well as resignation. She knows he'd still drive a sword or a bullet through any enemy's flesh to protect her or their friends. That part hasn't changed. But it seems that he'd prefer not to. 

The ghosts of everything they've been through together and everyone they've cared about and lost hang in the heating air around their joined bodies while Bellamy's eyes pin her in place. For once she absolutely  _hates_  how well he can peer into her and see the fragmented parts of herself she'd rather hide. 

"Bellamy," she says carefully, capturing his face in her palms. "Whatever you need is ok with me. But can I tell you what I'm thinking?" 

His grip on her wrist tightens, and he chokes out a yes. 

"I don't want to be without you again. Six years gave me a lot of time to think about everything that happened. About what I want. About who you were to me." 

He swallows. "Who I was," he repeats. "I was good to you then, wasn't I?" 

She smiles sadly. "You were the best."

The flicker of a smile rolls across his lips. 

"You pulled a lever with me. Crossed a war field to free me. Climbed a thousand-foot tower, pushed poison out of my hands. You forgave me when I didn't deserve it." 

"You deserved it," he insists. "You gave your life for all of us. You kept us alive at the dropship. You saved everyone in the Mountain. Saved them from the City of Light. It's always been you, Clarke." 

"Only because you were right there with me. I couldn't do any of this alone." 

She releases one hand to rake over his cheek and into his lake water springing curls. 

"I-I love you because even when you didn't know what to say, you were always  _there_ for me, Bellamy. I talked to the stars every night you were gone because that's where you were. My home was where you were even though I had all of this land to myself." 

He strokes her arm gently, and she stops herself from tumbling directly into his chest. There's emotion rising to his cheekbones, crinkling into the folds by his eyebrows.  

"There's not a word I know for what you are to me, but I should have said it. You deserved to know. I didn't have the right to claim you, even in my mind, when you were gone. You don't owe me anything; you can leave if you want. But ... I just want you to know," she sighs. "Nobody will ever be as important to me as you are. I could never love anybody else as much." 

" _Clarke."_ Her name's always a prayer, a promise, a plea. An unbreakable bridge between his head and her heart.

She shrugs, giving him a half-smile. "It's true. No point in pretending it's not anymore." 

The soft pressure of his lips on hers sends all her thoughts scattering from her head at once. He somehow manages to simultaneously stand up and slide his hand under her ass to drag her into his arms. She clings to him, lost in the sweet taste and warmth of the embrace. He lays her down on her back carefully on the two pallets she'd pushed together earlier, pressing another kiss to her lips then her cheek and forehead. The instant he starts to move back, Clarke drives her hands under his shirt at his waist, pulling him closer. 

"I'm right here, Princess." He leans back just to pull off his jacket before folding himself back over her small frame. "I'm not going anywhere." 

"You better not," she says sassily. "I've been waiting for this for six years." 

His eyes crinkle, and she catches his hand, pressing it to her lips before arching up to mold her mouth to his. Everything about his movements is so slow and tentative like he doesn't want to break her. For a few long, slow minutes she allows the gentle meeting of their mouths and his hands stroking up and down her ribcage. She opens her thighs just enough to catch his own leg in-between them, craving the weight of him against her core. 

"I never should have left you," he whispers into her ivory cheek. She shivers, feeling his fingers slip to the edge of her shirt and start rolling it upward. 

"You came back to me." She presses her own hands up along the length of his spine and back to the base of his neck, tests the strength of his shoulders before welcoming  his tongue into her mouth when he begins nibbling at her lower lip. 

Sparks fly through her abdomen while blood pumps harder through her veins when Bellamy rocks his hips into hers once, then twice. He's hardening rapidly, and she just wants to wrap a hand around his girth and have him thrust into her hard enough to make her believe this is real. 

She should have known that wouldn't be what Bellamy had in mind. 

"So?" he draws back from her with red, swollen lips a little while later, playing with the hem of her top. "You're good to do this?" 

"Yes," she practically groans. Beads of sweat are already causing her clothes to stick to her skin from the fire and his own body heat. "I don't want to wait anymore." 

"It's gonna change everything," his teeth sink lightly into the ridge where her shoulder meets her neck. 

Her hips arch up off the pallet and rut into his shamelessly. "I think we're past that point, don't you?" 

"Maybe," he concedes with a chuckle. "Just a little." 

It makes her laugh, a happy, zinging sound. And then she's pulling off her own top and bringing his hand to her bra clasp because, quite frankly, he's not moving fast enough. Bellamy snaps it open, and like a man transfixed, his eyes widen at the sight of her bare breasts. 

"You haven't really been formally introduced," Clarke smirks at him. 

"I can fix that," Bellamy returns darker than before, and she tries to stop the intake of breath but doesn't quite make it when his mouth closes over a nipple. 

Her neck muscles give out, causing her head to roll back at the sensation of his tongue laving at her. 

"God, you might be too good at that," Clarke whines, knotting her fingers into his hair to hold him close while he plucks at her other nipple meanly with his thumb and forefinger. 

Bellamy tugs off his own shirt a few minutes later. Clarke eventually kicks off her pants and with one final nod to Bellamy's raised eyebrow, lets him remove her underwear. She widens her thighs, snuggling down into the pallet as Bellamy begins sucking at her neck. The next thing she knows, he's skating a hand through her golden curls and into the space between her legs that makes her twitch. She senses the slickness forming as he toys with her, but when his thumb presses down intensely on her clit, she weaves her hand into his hair and jerks him back up to her mouth just as he slides his two fingers into her heat. 

"I should have been here to hold you," he murmurs. She doesn't know why the sweetness makes her core spasm around him.

"You're here now." 

Something passes over his face like he wants to respond but then he simply begins stroking upward against the sensitive tissue hidden deep inside her, reaching farther than she's been able to in her frantic, stolen moments while Madi slept. 

"Better make up for lost time," he grits. "Come on, Princess, show me what you got." 

The brink of her orgasm is there - it rises and foams within her, bubbling and frothy. Bellamy leans down, tips of his shaggy hair brushing against her face and murmurs, "Let me catch you." 

"Ok," it's barely a breath. But her body responds to her willingness to let go, and she clenches hard around his fingers, pulling them fully inside her. She jerks when he teases her swollen clit, slides her desperate hands back and forth across the dips of his biceps. He groans when she reaches up to kiss a patch of freckles on his shoulder before collapsing and dragging him down with her. 

"Do you want to keep--"

"Yes," Clarke urges, her fingers flying to the zipper of his pants. "I want to get my mouth on you." 

"Should have expected this," Bellamy half-laughs, half-groans when she manages to turn them over and straddle his hips. The abrasive cloth of his boxers - dried a little crunchy from their time in the water - ruts into her tender folds, sticking occasionally and making Clarke breathe harder. 

"It's been too long since someone was good to you, baby." Bellamy seems to chastise himself while Clarke impatiently works his boxers over his hips. "My fault." 

"You're making it hard for me to focus on fucking you." 

His laugh is dry until her mouth closes around the head of his cock when the noise strangles in his throat. 

"Jesus, baby." 

Clarke strokes the risen vein underneath his cock while taking the heated hardness into her mouth as far as she can. It works her jaw. She finds it hard to breathe for a brief, panicky moment when Bellamy can't help but thrust deeper into her mouth and hold the back of her neck to keep her close. 

"Shit, sorry," he splutters immediately, backing off. 

She rolls her eyes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It's a definite turn on to see his eyes so hazy like this. "That's what I  _want_  you to do, Bell. To enjoy it." 

There's the flash of his teeth, white and sharp. 

"I'll show you what I'd enjoy," he grips her hips and tugs her back to the pallet before the crackling fire, tickling her ribs until she's spasming with a type of glee he doesn't think he's ever seen in her. "Getting inside of you."  

When he settles on top of her once more, she keens at the drag of his cock across her folds. It has been six years after all. She's not sure how receptive her body's going to be. Bellamy seems to reach this conclusion at the same moment, hearing her short pants. He rubs his thumb up and down the milk white skin of her cheek as a beam of moonlight filters through one of the cabin's limited windows.  

"I don't want to hurt you," he mumbles.

She catches his chin, makes him meet her piercing blue eyes. The wiggle of her hips against his sends his fingernails digging into her sides. 

"You won't, besides..." she purses her lips, "Even if you did, I want to remember this." 

The brown completely flees from his eyes, pushed out by his expanding black pupils. Finding her opening, he interlaces the fingers of her left hand with his right one, stretching them over her head and letting her squeeze down when he plunges inside her channel, unable to hold back anymore. 

"Ohhh," Clarke stutters, blinking too much and tensing around his girth as her body responds to the slight shock. 

"Can you take me?" 

Reaching around his hip to pinch his ass, Clarke heaves in a breath and waits to adjust. "Go on. I want the whole thing." 

Bellamy groans into her shoulder, thrusting farther inside and revealing in the impossible clutch of her moisture- soaked walls rubbing against him. He loves hearing her pants and moans, can't help but run his fingers through her choppy blonde waves while her small hand glides up his abs before giving up and holding onto his shoulder while he pounds her into the pallet. It's freeing to let herself be taken by him.

"Oh my God!" she cries out when he reaches her cervix, nudging straight into it with mild speed. 

"Clarke... can I--"

For a moment, she's confused. Then she senses him tensing up, knows he's swelling. A momentary panic blazes in her bones before she remembers this is far from her fertile time. 

"Yeah, please," she huffs, rocking up into him with almost as much intensity as him. She smiles in pleasure when his hot come hits her walls, thrown over the edge once more by a few more lazy thrusts and the heat of his hand working her breasts and tweaking her stiff, blush pink nipples in turn.

Later, Clarke snuggles into the side of Bellamy's chest while he strokes up and down her arm, pulling the blankets up around her fully to make sure she's warm enough. 

"There's still something I don't understand," his stubble tickles her cheek, making her giggle despite the pulse of pleasure his gravelly voice provides. 

"Mhmmm." She tangles her legs in his and watches the fire's dying golden embers spark. 

"What did you originally agree on with Diyoza? Were you just going to sacrifice yourself, or did she demand the rest of us pair up with Eligius?" 

Clarke shifts and glances up at him, biting her lip. "Diyoza knew how I felt about you from the calls. She threatened to pair everybody up, but I was hoping it was a bluff, and I could get away with just... you know... offering myself up." 

He pulls her closer to him with a firm forearm around her waist. "Never. Happening," he mutters angrily. Bellamy's sure she's sleeping calmly against him several minutes later when she whispers. "I know. I'm yours." 

When she wakes, chinks of blue sky can be seen through the window. An eagle flies past a tall cluster of pine trees. She's colder than she was last night, a little sore. Her heart sinks when her palm reaches for Bellamy and finds nothing but air. Drawing a blanket around herself, she stands groggily, noticing a sheet of paper - the back of one of her tan drawings it looks like - on an old table pushed against the wall. Clarke reaches for it, eyes flicking over the words. 

_You looked too peaceful to wake. I'm checking on the others and going to clean up by the river. Be back soon. Your breakfast is next to the fire. You're amazing, Princess. Can’t believe you picked me. -Bellamy  P.S. Are my ears really this big?_

She grins, turning the page over and realizing it's an old one she did of him years ago. In it, he's wearing his weatherbeaten leather jacket and standing by the wooden gate they built to surround the dropship, ever vigilant on his patrol with a gun strapped over his hip and his gaze focused outward.

+

"I saw him leaving from the same cabin this morning that you just did." Clarke freezes, whirling around and sloshing the water bucket she carries in the process. 

"Good morning," she says stiffly to Echo, who was lingering right at the edge of the tree line that leads to the path toward the lake. 

"I'm sure it is for you," the other woman bites back. 

Clarke grimaces. "I'm not doing this with you. Not with my kid right over there," she nods in the direction of Madi eating some berries beside Emori on the logs by the campfire. She begins stalking away, until Echo's voice pulls her back. 

"Wait!" 

Clarke spins around. "What?" 

"Don't you feel guilty at all?" Echo demands. 

The word smashes into Clarke's stomach and explodes there. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. 

"This isn't what I wanted to happen if that's what you mean," she says carefully. "You know I'm sorry for your loss." 

Echo gives her a strange look. "It's exactly what you've always wanted, Clarke. Maybe not me getting caught in between, but you have always had a claim on Bellamy." 

"Only if he wants me back." 

Echo scoffs. 

"As if that's not the case." 

Her eyes rake up and down Clarke's tattered, ripped clothing and frizzy hair, and she feels herself flush under the scrutiny. 

"Even if our child didn't die, he would have been pulled to wherever you are. It has always been that way," Echo says flatly. "Just ask Gina." 

She purses her lips, turns, and walks in the direction of the others leaving Clarke unsure of what just happened. 


	20. (You are Wonkru or You Are the Enemy of Wonkru) Choose

"Excuse me!" Clarke yells, somewhere between a choking sob and a snarl. "What did you just say to me?" 

She watches the muscles of Echo's back tighten on the spot. When she turns, her eyes are bright, and her smile is feral. A few long strides and she's towering over Clarke. 

"I said Just. Ask. Gina," she whispers coldly. 

"I'm not responsible for Gina's death - you are!" 

Hot, flowing lava sloshes around low in Clarke's stomach. She drops her water bucket with a clatter. Her hand is twitching to reach for the knife stored deep in her boot. As much as she wants to reach for it, she knows Bellamy must care for this beast of a woman on some level. There have to be redeeming qualities that drew him to her.  _Right, like how she was one of two people he had the option of sleeping with for 6 years? God, why couldn't it have just been Raven?_

Still. The hurt and frustration she can already see shading his dark eyes if he finds them like this is enough to halt the movement.  _You're better than this, Clarke._

Echo gives a dry, crackling laugh. 

"You want to compare death counts, Wanheda? Because I'm pretty sure you'll lose." 

Clarke takes a step closer too, lifts her chin and stares her down, speaking with conviction. 

"Everything I did I did for my people. What's your excuse? Nia wanted to seize power, so you helped murder hundreds of people to reach that goal. My people were starving while yours were well-fed. They lacked supplies while yours had furs and animals and tools. They survived a crash landing from the goddamn stars only to be surrounded from all sides by people who wanted them dead for  _existing_. They wanted to cut out a peaceful slice of land to live on and be left alone while yours wanted to conquer and destroy. Tell me how we're the same. Come on," she narrows her eyes. "I want to hear it." 

She huffs lightly from her passionate speech, and Echo's stone expression falters for a moment. 

"I didn't know Nia intended--"

"Of course you did!" Clarke spits. "Did you think she was calling our guards away from Mount Weather - which we  _rightfully_  earned by destroying your decades-long enemy - so she could stop by for tea? You're not that stupid! I know you're not!" 

"I didn't intend for the girl to die," Echo returns icily. "I told Bellamy as much, and he accepted it. It doesn't matter if you won't." 

"Right," Clarke scoffs. "Why would you care what I thought? I'm just the person who stayed behind and all but died making sure you were safe." 

"You didn't do it for me." 

"You're damn right I didn't. I did it for my  _friends_." 

She's surprised to see the comment lands with a sting. 

"Bellamy was never your friend." 

It's Clarke's turn to laugh. She tucks her wayward hair back behind her ear as a strong breeze fluffs it out around her cheek. 

"That's where you're confused. He's my  _best_  friend. He has been for seven years. He's more important to me than you could possibly understand. And I would  _never_  betray his trust like you did, Echo. I couldn't do that to the person who kept me alive, time after time. That's what's so hard to understand about someone like you. He kept you alive, too. Saved you from the cages. But maybe you've told him why his sacrifice wasn't enough for you."

Clarke's half-expecting Echo to lunge forward, enough to jerk back herself and bring her glinting blade up to catch the first beams of pale yellow daylight floating down through the trees.  

"Get out of my face," Clarke hisses. "I don't owe you anything else." 

She watches Echo's oval eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up as her focus lands somewhere over Clarke's shoulder. 

"You heard her, Echo. Back up." 

"Bellamy, it's not ... I ..." 

Clarke turns in time to see the clench of his jaw and the frustrated lines blooming on his forehead as he shakes his black curls free of excess water droplets. He holds up his hand, stopping Echo's garbled attempts at speech. The next moment, he's got an arm banded around her waist, pulling her gently into his side as she lowers her knife hand down. A strange, tense stillness hangs in the air between them all, the most bizarre trio. 

"I thought we talked about this yesterday." There's silky smoothness in his voice that in no way matches the pounding of Clarke's heart. "You seemed calm then. But I guess old habits die hard." 

It  _almost_  sounds understanding. Yet Clarke's not sure how Bellamy manages to inflect his voice with a quiet sarcasm. This is the most uncomfortable she's been in a long time. It was easier talking only to Madi and the birds. 

"You and me has nothing to do with me and her," Echo glowers. 

Bellamy's laughter is dark and rich. It sends a chill up her spine, but not necessarily in an unpleasant way. It's just ... it pulls back memories of wristbands and roasted boar, cocky smirks and automatic rifles locked in oil-filled barrels. Of Murphy pleading for his life while the delinquents chanted for his death. Of Atom kissing Octavia in a thicket of neon butterflies. Of Bellamy's hand, locked around her arm, staring into her eyes as she hung suspended over spikes. That's not who he is anymore, well, it's not who he chooses to be. But it's there. Still. After all this time. She can hear it. 

"That's not how I see it," Bellamy returns, still calm. "I understand you're still upset, and I understand why you want to direct that my way. I deserve it. Clarke doesn't. So don't use her as your punching bag. If you do, you and me are gonna have problems," he pauses for a long moment, tilts his head to the side. "Again." 

Clarke's lips twitch with the words she is dying to say. But it's not a good idea. She knows it's not. Bellamy's gaze lands on her sun-freckled cheek. 

"What is it?" 

She won't say it. 

With a sigh and the release of the stiffness in her shoulders, Clarke looks up and locks eyes with Bellamy. He gives the tiniest nod of his chin. 

"We just don't have time for this," she turns to Echo. "You hate me? I get it. A lot of people do. I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd probably hate me too." 

"You saved her life--" Bellamy cuts in. 

"So did you, it barely mattered," Clarke snips. "My  _point_  is our friends are being held prisoner by Diyoza, and we need to open the goddamn bunker  _today_! Even you should care about that - Azgeda is inside, too." 

Echo lifts and lowers her eyebrows. "What's left of it." 

"Octavia didn't have to save every clan!" Clarke stops just short of roaring. 

"You stole the bunker for Skaikru! You were going to cheat and didn't care if we all died in Praimfaya!" 

"Uh-huh. And I'd do it again," Clarke growls, sensing Bellamy's disapproval without having to look. "Same as you'd illegally knock out competitors from the conclave. Maybe we do have something in common." She steps forward, eyes narrowing, willing Echo to argue. 

"This is getting us nowhere," Bellamy grumbles, walking off to the side of them with clenched fists. 

"Today?" He meets Clarke's eyes. 

"I agree with Murphy," she returns, Echo momentarily forgotten. "It's time to free our people." 

+ 

The bang of a door hitting the wall stirs Raven from a tangled dream. There had been a labyrinth covered in walls of ivy. She'd been running somehow, legs strong and powerful under her, taking her down a long, shadowy stretch, around a corner and into nothing but blackness and stars. 

"Wh-Wha-What is it?" she mumbles, instantly aware of the searing ache across the side of her torso where McCreary had smacked her with the side of his gun. Small cuts blanket her hands in smears of dried blood, and there's the aftertaste of dirt in her mouth. Her hand scrambles around until it lands on worn cargo pants with the telltale side zipper pocket. Monty. She breathes out in relief. She's not alone. 

"Well, isn't this a cozy sight," Diyoza is standing in the doorway, one hand across the swell of her stomach. 

Raven attempts to lurch to her feet, still half in her dream, when Monty reaches out to still her. "Easy. Not yet," he whispers quietly before turning his attention back on their captor. "What do you want from us? We've told you everything we know about the bunker already." 

Her grin is wide, exposing a full set of straight, shiny teeth. 

"You did," she nods agreeably as if they're old friends. "And I appreciate it. Your friends are outside. We've worked out a way to open the bunker and deal with Octavia. Thank you for all the insights," she inclines her head toward them. 

Raven feels the sickening sink of her stomach. 

"How?" Monty demands. 

"We've calibrated our digging equipment to lift the majority of the building rubble and cut through the weakest wall without damaging the electrical wiring. We have to be careful, as Ms. Reyes pointed out, to preserve the integrity of the structure in the event we ever need to use it again. The green zone isn't exactly close by." 

Monty looks surprised at the random display of honesty. 

"That's not what he meant," Raven's tone hardens as she pushes herself to her feet, dragging Monty up with her. 

"Hmmm?" Diyoza is feigning ignorance. She can feel it. 

"How are you going to deal with Octavia?" Raven snaps. 

"Manners, Ms. Reyes," Diyoza tuts. 

McCreary appears over her shoulder, looking them up and down. He saunters into the room twirling his gun between his fingers. 

"Let's just say we hear she's not a fan of dark ... tight ... confined spaces," he punctuates each word with a flourish. 

She can hear the gurgle in Monty's throat. 

Her eyes land on the clear crate on a shelf over the wooden benches filled with the same devices she watched Eligius examining when Clarke tried to sacrifice herself. Suddenly, she has an idea. 

+ 

Everything's grey - from sky to the ground to the collection of collapsed buildings that were once Polis. The first thing Echo notices as they stand in the barren wasteland that used to be the last outpost of any sort of civilization for miles are the cuts and bruises littering Monty and Raven's skin. She cracks her knuckles as McCreary leers at their small group of seven as they approach. Grounders all now, she thinks with a stab of irony. He's got her friends in heavy chains around their wrists. 

"You said they wouldn't be harmed!" Murphy yells seconds later. 

She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, gritting her teeth. 

_Always impulsive. It's always a mistake._

"I said  _I_  wouldn't harm them," Diyoza answers. "And I didn't."

McCreary waves. Murphy twitches, makes to move forward before Emori yanks him back. 

"We can't," Echo hears her grit to her boyfriend. 

They stop at the edge of the machinery intent on ripping a hole in the hunk of titanium steel that's kept humanity alive for the past six years. Off to the side of Raven stands the young pilot, Zeke, if she remembers correctly. He keeps glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. At one point, his hand flutters like a bird's wing in Raven's direction when she shifts uncomfortably on her brace. Her backpack must be heavy. But he stills himself just in time for McCreary's gaze to focus on him. 

 _Those fucking bastards had no right to touch Raven or Monty_. 

Bellamy's back is ramrod straight, chin lifted in a defiant pose she remembers from when they were all together on the ground the first time. Clarke stands beside him, his mirror image in stance and expression. She expects Bellamy to take the lead - he always did on the Ark - but has to suppress a grimace when it's Clarke's mouth that opens first. 

"I thought you wanted a doctor, Diyoza!" she calls out. 

Diyoza smirks. "Your point?" 

"Her point is let's get our people the hell out of there!" Bellamy barks before Emori rests a restraining hand on his bicep. She knows she'll never be able to do that again, touch him so easily. At the very least, the bleeding has stopped. 

"What do you say?" Zeke directs his question to Charmaine. "Ready to slice her open?" 

"Bellamy!" Raven suddenly shouts. "Grounder Princess looks pissed!" His eyes find Raven's emphatic expression, blinking several times. There's a flicker of something like recognition there that he subdues almost instantaneously. 

Diyoza throws one last long, disapproving glance their way. It lingers on Raven before sliding to Madi's dark hair pulled into a side braid. Clarke immediately places a hand on the girl's shoulder. The outburst appears to have left the colonel unfazed. The Eligius crew is starting to grow restless, dirty clothing flapping lightly in a rare, warm breeze. All they need is a sandstorm. 

"Let's save the human race," Diyoza answers McCreary.  

+ 

The harness is tight, nearly cutting off circulation to his thighs. Bellamy grabs onto the rope securely, nodding at Zeke who's ready to bring him down into the murky hole below. Dust clouds swim in the air, but he can make out people moving below, just grey shapes like insects on the ground. There's an eruption of noise at his feet, shouts and outcries that are a jumbled cacophony. Clarke stands beside him, getting her harness adjusted by Harper and a female member of the Eligius crew he's never met. She reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing his larger fingers with her little ones. A careful, small smile rests on her pink lips. 

"Together?" It's almost a prayer. 

"Together," he agrees. 

There's a zinging swoosh as he jumps, soaring for several seconds to the floor below and landing with a clomp. His previously injured leg gives a bit, but he swallows the groan, hastening to remove the harness. He's vaguely aware of Clarke hitting the ground seconds later, but then a mass of makeup and dark hair is barreling into his chest, and he's lifting up Octavia and swinging her into his arms. 

"I knew you'd come, big brother!" she huffs hotly into his ear. She smells like sweat and ginger soap. She's thinner than he remembers but she wraps her arms around him just as tightly, and he buries his face in her neck. He's finally home. 

By the time he glances back at Clarke, her blue eyes are sweeping up and down the walls, a pale version of horror highlighting her features. He lets Octavia go, turns slowly on the spot as Octavia approaches Clarke jerkily. He thinks they may grasp forearms, but there's blood. On the walls. They're in some kind of pit with metal fences and barbed wire, while an angry looking crowd watches from the spectator stands above. It's like a version of his Roman gladiator myths gone wrong... horribly wrong. Kane stands in a corner with a full-grown beard, nursing a gash to his arm. Across from him are grounders he doesn't know, also injured. He notices axes, swords and some kind of chain with a spiked ball at the end littering the space around the walls. 

"What the hell happened down here, O?" he mutters urgently in his sister's ear, pulling her close. 

"Six years is a long time, Bell," she says. "I did what we had to do to survive." 

+ 

"Madi, stay with Harper! I need to go sort things out with Octavia and find my mom." Clarke drops down to her knees and grips her daughter's face between her palms. "Be good. I love you." 

"Clarke! Let me go too! Octavia's my favorite. Just let me meet her and then--"

"Do as I say," Clarke widens her eyes and raises her eyebrows. "You'll meet her later. I promise." 

Madi gives a dramatic eye roll, completely oblivious to the death and squalor surrounding them it seems. Maybe it's for the best. But then her eyes meet Bellamy's, and his warm heat is a welcome presence at her side. It's probably wrong to want his arm around her at a time like this, but her heart's about to beat out of her chest in something near panic.  

"Bellamy, what happened here?" 

"I don't know," he swipes a hand across his face. His revulsion must reflect her own. "But we're going to find out." 

Damage to the farming equipment. The Dark Year. Fights to the death. Cannibalism. Clarke's mind reels and her stomach roils as she listens to a highly upset Octavia's anger grow with each syllable. Bellamy is outwardly appalled - he can't even begin to hide it. They're locked away in a dorm, almost bare except for a few bunk beds, bedside tables and a lone wardrobe. Nothing even hangs on the walls. At a certain point, Clarke lowers herself to the bottom bunk and puts her head in her hands. 

"O, how could you--"

"How could I what?!" Octavia shrieks. "Keep us alive! There was no other way, Bell! No other choice! This is what you left me with, and I did the best I could do with it!" 

"You turned my bedtime stories into your own person version of Hell!" He steps closer to her, hands on his hips. 

"Abby agreed to it!" Octavia returns with fresh fire. "She's the one who put me up to it! Some mother you've got, Griffin." Clarke meets her furious glare with wary eyes. "Telling me all about this famine on the Ark and how they dealt with it. And Jaha got himself stabbed almost as soon as we got down here, which left Kane, and you know he's about as useless as the Council was about doing things to actually  _save_   _lives_." 

Her face is reddening as she rants, voice a sharp razor point. 

"All right, all right, this is getting us nowhere," Bellamy holds up his hands in supplication. "We already told you the terms," he glances hesitantly at Clarke. She just nods back, mind still racing. "Diyoza wants Abby because she's pregnant and--"

"Because Eligius has a strange disease," Clarke finishes for him. 

"What?" he asks. "How do you know that?" 

"Monty and Raven, how else?" she shrugs and gets to her feet. "They got some intel out of Zeke. Well, my guess is Raven did." She purses her lips at Bellamy who throws her an  _I can't believe this right now_  look. A line crinkles between his eyebrows that she wants to soothe away. Constant stress. That's all the ground ever was, and maybe it's all it'll ever be. Still, there had been no time to pass along to him the words Monty whispered to her before she dropped into the bunker.

"Clarke needs to see her mother before she helps Eligius. But we've got to send armed guards with Abby because I don't trust any of them." 

Octavia laughs, a piercingly chilling chuckle. 

"What?" Clarke demands. 

"Oh, you can see her, the traitor," her lip curls up into a snarl. "But she won't be much good to you. She's the reason Kane was fighting today. He took the fall for the drugs she stole. Wonkru doesn't tolerate thieves." 

"The medical supplies didn't last?" Bellamy questions, confused. 

Clarke thinks she's about to throw up. 

"Not exactly," Octavia's eyes gleam from under the bronze and black makeup smeared above them. "I hate to tell you, Clarke, but turns out Mommy dearest is a drug addict now." 

"O--" Bellamy says disapprovingly harsh, cocking his head to the side. 

"Since when can't Clarke handle the truth?" Octavia retorts, stepping closer to her and picking at a strand of pink still present underneath her blonde locks. "It's not like living on the Ark with just seven other people for six years isn't enough to drive someone crazy." She steps back, arching an eyebrow. "Not like your mom had a real excuse then, huh? There were hundreds of people to talk to, and she still cracked up." 

Clarke's torn between the desire to sink her nails into Octavia's throat and nurse the punch to her stomach the words caused. Instead, she stares straight into the brunette's eyes. 

"I didn't make it to the Ark." 

Octavia's face rearranges into confusion. 

"What do you mean? How the hell could you have survived?" 

Bellamy, looking pained, cuts in. "That's what we're here to talk to you about, O. There's a valley, green and full of life. It's big enough to sustain all of Wonkru plus Eligius. Diyoza is willing to share it with us as long as you let Abby help her and her people." 

Clarke can tell he's avoiding her face. 

"Wait," Octavia says slowly, gripping the nearest bunk bed ladder and rocking back and forth on the heels of her thigh-high boots. "Start over.  _You_ ," she looks pointedly at her brother, "Left this Earth without  _her_?" Clarke feels her face burn. "You left her to die?" Thick disbelief coats every syllable. 

"I didn't give him a choice," Clarke cuts in desperately, already seeing the self-hatred creeping back into Bellamy's eyes. "The death wave was coming, and someone needed to activate the Ark's power from a radio tower. I just ..." she stares down at the ground. "I didn't make it back in time. They didn't mean to leave me. Bellamy ... didn't mean to leave me." 

"Well that's just something, big brother," she gives him a tight-lipped grimace. "You're full of surprises." 

 _If only you knew the half of it_ , Clarke thinks ruefully, recalling a younger Octavia stretched out on a table in Alpha Station, a sword wound piercing her torso. 

"I want to see my mother," she snaps instead. "We're running out of time. Diyoza and her men are probably checking out every inch of this bunker. Agree to split the land with her, and we can all get out of here and start living again." 

There's a very long pause. Until finally - 

"Oh, I don't think so, Princess," Octavia smiles darkly. "While you were communing with nature and painting with berries or whatever the fuck you did, I was FORCING PEOPLE TO EAT HUMAN FLESH, SO THE SPECIES DIDN'T DIE! So you don't get to be in charge anymore! Neither of you!" she rounds on her brother. "Not when this is what you left me with! We're keeping the land we died for for ourselves." 

Clarke takes one step back from Octavia's rage just as Bellamy steps forward to block her. But it's unnecessary. Octavia stalks from the room and into the hallway. They hurry after her, but, once again, Diyoza's beat them to the punch. She's flanked by two of her men, plus McCreary. 

"Hello, Ms. Blake," she smiles. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She nods at the burlier men, who immediately grip Octavia's arms and begin dragging her away. "Seems like we have a lot to talk about." 

"Bellamy!" she screams. "I'll never forgive you for this!" 

"Octavia!" he bellows back. 

Octavia's cries of outrage are futile but piercing as they ricochet off the walls. It makes sense - she thinks they set her up. The moment Bellamy puts a boot forward to follow her, Diyoza has a gun pointed straight for his chest. Clarke flings her arms out in front of him instinctually. "Don't even think about it," she snarls. 

"Hmm, willing to die for each other. How quaint," Diyoza says, bored. "I don't want to play games with you, Ms. Griffin. You're coming with me to get your mother. I know where she's being held. And you," she points at Bellamy, "will be escorted by McCreary to your sister's ... box. We have work to do with her." 

Clarke barely has time to press her fingers to Bellamy's forearm before she's being jerked away. 

+

It's utter pandemonium by the time she arrives back beneath the blown-open atrium, her right arm wrapped around Abby's narrow shoulders. After her mother hugged her tightly, staring at her in bewildered disbelief, she remained silent. It's unnerving. Diyoza, for all her talk about needing a doctor, disappeared to God knows where as soon as they'd freed her. 

"It's going to be ok, mom," she keeps repeating, more to reassure herself than anything else. "I'm going to get you out of here." 

People she'd grown up with on the Ark are battling the Eligius crew with a brutal force she never would have believed of them. She catches her old math teacher slitting a woman's throat, scarlet blood squirting against the wall behind them, and turns away, sickened. 

"Madi!" she shouts as the girl's chocolate braid shoots into focus from the edge of a nearby hallway. She rushes over, ducking around a pair of clashing swords while her mother raises her arms over their heads protectively. She finds her daughter watching everything unfold with wide eyes and shoves her deeper into the hallway, away from the brawl. 

"What is going on?" she demands of Harper, who stands beside Madi in the shadows. 

"Abby," Harper opens her arms to the woman, who stumbles confusedly into them. "I don't really know," she whispers over Abby's shoulder to Clarke, whose fingers are now snatched around Madi's tunic to stop her from moving. "Octavia was taken past by Eligius screaming about how 'We are Wonkru' or something, and it just  _activated_  them all! I've never seen anything like it! Everyone's been going at it for at least five minutes. What happened with you and Bellamy?" 

Clarke's heart clenches in her chest. She has no doubt Diyoza will relish killing the Blakes if she has to after this stunt. 

"I have to get back to him!" she exclaims quickly to Harper. "Keep them safe!" 

There's only one place that's a true holding cell in this bunker. One place that would drive Octavia insane - remind her of her time under the floor. As Clarke races down a side hallway, she veers up a winding set of stairs, remembering the route from her brief time here before. She only knows because it's where she agreed to lock Bellamy up. 

+ 

"Let me in! Let me in!" she bangs on the door with a raw palm. 

She doesn't expect it to be Diyoza to open it, gun drawn, but it's her calculating brown eyes that greet Clarke. "What is it with these Sky People, Paxton?" She yanks Clarke inside and slams the door behind her. "It's like they want us to kill them." 

"I know," McCreary drawls, sliding the glinting edge of his knife up to Bellamy's throat where he has him tied to a chair. Bellamy shoots horrified eyes at Clarke from above his gag. Panic begins spreading through her bloodstream like a forest fire. She can't take on all these men. From her left, Octavia shakes and twitches in her own chair. 

"I think I got an idea," McCreary's voice echoes off the walls of the narrow space. 

"What's that?" Diyoza returns. 

"The boy here with the two people he cares about the most. It's too good to pass up." 

Clarke can't breathe, can't think, can't begin to comprehend how they got here. Why he didn't just let her sacrifice herself like she wanted to when she had the chance. 

"Either the boy convinces his sister to call off the fighting and give us the whole valley - we can't live with such  _barbarians_  now that we see what they are, can we? - and ..." his gaze lands on where Clarke's being held roughly by Diyoza, "We only kill blondie." 

Bellamy hisses and moans beneath the gag, but it's useless. It's bound too tight. 

"Ohhh, we got us a fighter!" Diyoza smiles. "I like that kind of energy." 

"'Course, we'll leave you all the bunker," McCrearey presses the blade closer to Bellamy's Adam's apple, and Clarke watches a few drops of red slide down his throat. "Maybe you can grow some of that algae here and make do." 

"And if he can't convince her?" Diyoza asks sweetly. 

Her arms around Clarke's lungs are cutting off her breathing. 

"Then I kill the dark beauty instead," McCreary bears his teeth to Octavia. 

Clarke's eyes dart between Bellamy and Octavia so fast they're just blurs. His chocolate brown eyes are focused on her face, trying to burrow into her core, like always. But she won't let him in this time. She can't compete with his love for Octavia, wouldn't want to. The goodbye she knows he'll want to communicate isn't anything she wants. 

"Excellent," says Diyoza. "Let's see what he'd like to do." 

Numbness is overtaking Clarke's extremities. Still, she can hear Bellamy's thoughts like telepathy. 

_Look at me. Look at me. Look at me._

"What's it gonna be?" 

McCreary rips the cloth away from his mouth. 

Finally, she looks. His eyes don't say goodbye. They're steel with determination. She tries to find her breathing again. 

"I can convince my sister," Bellamy says, staring her down. "She's my responsibility." 

Clarke watches the lines wash away from Octavia's face, and knows, in an instant, she understands too. He has a plan.

A minute later, with guns pointed at their back, they walk together shoulder to shoulder down the hallway to the atrium, Bellamy's arms wrapped protectively around each of their waists. Clarke allows herself one half-second to lean into him before McCreary digs the butt of his weapon between her shoulder blades and she nearly stumbles. 

It's the barest whisper as they turn the last corner, but Clarke hears Bellamy breathe to his sister, "Call it off. Raven has bombs. Trust me." 

Clarke's eyes shoot past Bellamy's freckled cheek to find him gazing right back at her. "Won't lose you again," he squeezes at her waist. It clicks. The bridge. Blowing it up all those years ago. That's what Raven had been shouting about. It was a way to communicate their advantage. She's planning on bombing Eligius while they're still down here - like shooting fish in a barrel. 

"Wonkru!" Octavia is already bellowing, nearly regal as her cloak billows out behind her from the breeze above. "Stand down!" 


End file.
